Falling Stars
by Bohemian Anne
Summary: Having survived the Titanic, Jack and Rose make their lives count...together.
1. I'm Having A Baby

Chapter One

            It was raining the day Carpathia docked, the young couple stepped off together hand in hand.

            One felt as though his heart would pop if he thought of Rose any more, the other felt as though she could fly, with Jack beside her the whole time.

            The story had fallen out just as an author writes words in a fairy tale.

            "Rose, what's wrong?" Jack had asked her many times.

            Rose would always smile and say 'finding you' but now her answer was different, "I'm having a baby."

            Jack was overjoyed with the news and found an apartment and a job as fast as he could.

            Rose on the other hand was worried; she was worried something would go wrong with the birth of the baby.

            "Jack, what if the baby dies at birth?" Rose asked him.

            "Rose, don't worry, tonight let's pick out names," Jack answered.

            That night when Jack got home, Rose had out a blank sheet of paper and a pencil on the table for him.

            After dinner, they talked about names for a girl and finally settled on Libby Emma Dawson and for a boy Gregory Peter Dawson.

            After everything was settled that night, Rose curled up beside Jack and finally felt safe in the arms of the one she loved.

            "I love you Jack Dawson," Rose said.

            "I love you too Rose Dawson," Jack replied and then they both fell asleep in each other's arms.


	2. Louise Baker

Chapter Two

            Rose and Jack moved to Chippewa Falls, Wisconsin right after they docked in New York, after that Jack proposed.

            Six months later, Cal and Ruth had finally found where Rose was at, they were planning to take her from Jack and make her marry Cal.

            "Ruth, how are we going to get her out of the house?" Cal asked.

            "We just take her," Ruth replied.

            When they got there that morning, they found Rose curled up in the arms of Jack.

            "Ruth, we shouldn't take her," Cal said.

            "Hockley, have you gotten a soft spot?" Ruth asked him.

            "No, look on her finger," Cal said, on her finger was a small, simple ring with just a tiny diamond in the middle of it.

            "Hockley, you will marry my daughter," Ruth said.

            "If you want the money Ruth then marry my father," Cal said and then he left.

            Ruth stood there, alone and confused, she could do what Cal said to do, or live her life in poverty, she walked away from the house toward Cal and he took her to his father.

            Jack woke up and looked at Rose, she was only five months along, but he could see the small pouch growing on her.

            "Rose, wake up darling," Jack said.

            Rose's eyes fluttered open to see the man she loved.

            "Jack, I love you," Rose said.

            "I love you too," Jack replied.

            Suddenly, they both heard knocking at the door and Jack got worried, "Let me go see who it is."

            "Jack, be careful," Rose said.

            Jack opened the door to a person he thought he would never see again, "Louise!"

            "Well, I heard you were back in town," Louise, his old girlfriend said.

            "Jack, who is this?" Rose asked after she came out of the bathroom.

            "This is one of my old friends, Louise Baker, this is the love of my life, Rose DeWitt-Bukater," Jack said.

            "Nice to meet you," Louise said shaking Rose's hand.

            "Nice to meet you too," Rose replied.

            "So, Jack how long have you been here?" Louise asked him after she got in the house.

            "We have been here six months, engaged and expecting a baby," Jack said.

            Louise was surprised at how Jack had straightened up over the past few years.

            "My, you have settled down Jack," Louise said.

            "Thank you," Jack said, pulling Rose toward him.

            A few minutes after she left, Louise thought back to a newspaper article she had read about a DeWitt-Bukater drowning from Titanic.

            Rose looked at Jack, "Jack, she knows who I am."

            "No, she doesn't, I promise you that she doesn't suspect a thing," Jack said.

            After dinner that night, Rose and Jack planned their wedding and set the wedding date for November 13, 1912.

            Louise was at home wondering about Rose, "Why did she leave the rich life?"

            Finally, she settled that maybe she truly did love Jack and she should give her a chance, "Good luck Jack."


	3. Gossip

Chapter Three

October 29, 1912

            The next morning, Rose walked into town to buy the materials for her wedding dress. She hated walking into town, where the good, decent citizens of Chippewa Falls could look at her with contempt and moral outrage. Nice, well-brought-up young women did not live in sin with a man they weren't married to, and the fact that she and Jack were engaged did little to cool the moral outrage displayed by many of the people she met.

            The fact that she was now visibly pregnant only made things worse, and she wished that she and Jack had been married a few months earlier. At least then she wouldn't be looking forward to waddling down the aisle.

            Rose had mostly been able to hide her pregnancy up until the sixth month, when her stomach had enlarged to the point that her empire waist dresses no longer hid it. If people had been scandalized before, they were even more shocked now, that someone like her would walk down the street in broad daylight, uncaring of people's opinions.

            Many of the women crossed the street, or swept their skirts to the side to avoid contamination when she walked by. Some of the men looked at her speculatively as she passed, as least when she was alone. When Jack was with her, they kept their eyes to themselves, but she could still feel the townspeople's condemnation.

            Not all of them were that way; some were more tolerant. Still, the tolerant ones were rare enough that Rose had been surprised by Louise's acceptance of the situation, and a bit suspicious. After all, Louise was Jack's ex-girlfriend, and she might be trying to win points with Jack by accepting Rose.

            Rose made her way into a dry goods store and wandered toward the back, where she thumbed through patterns for dresses, trying to find one that would be suitable as a wedding dress and would still disguise her girth. As she was holding up three patterns, trying to decide which one she liked the best, two of the town's biggest gossips walked in.

            Not realizing that Rose was there, they began talking, their voices rising with indignation as they discussed her.

            "Just walking down the street, brazen as you please! She doesn't even care that some of the young people might see her! Why, if they decide to imitate her...I don't know what the world's coming to."

            Her companion nodded, pulling her two small children out from under a table laden with bolts of fabric. "She probably thinks that as soon as she marries her young man, everyone will accept her and her bastard child. That kind always does. I don't see why she even thinks she should be able to walk among decent people. She probably doesn't even know who the father of her baby is!"

            "Now, Thelma, you shouldn't say things like that. She seems very dedicated to her young man, even if they are living in sin. And you know that he's been gone for five years, roaming God only knows where. She's probably some hussy he picked up somewhere."

            "Oh, but have you heard the way she talks? Like she's putting on airs. Like she thinks she's somebody...a member of high society or some such thing."

            "Well, maybe she is at that, Thelma. Why, if she were my daughter, and she behaved the way she does, I'd put her out in a minute. Of course, my husband would probably disagree. Bob is more of the shotgun wedding type. But really, you'd think the girl would have more sense. Why, she expects to be accepted, but she goes around seducing young men. She shouldn't expect society to accept her."

            Rose had been listening intently to their words. Holding the pattern she had selected, she stepped around a display of sewing machines and came up to the table of fabric.

            Thelma was going on about the scandal Rose had caused when her companion noticed Rose watching them. Tugging on Thelma's sleeve, she hissed at her to be quiet.

            Thelma looked up and saw Rose staring at her. Face reddening, she looked away, acting as though she hadn't seen her.

            With a calm, uncaring expression on her face, Rose sorted through the fabric, looking for something that suited her, but inside she was furious. Who did these women think they were, to talk about her? Hadn't either of them ever made a mistake, or done something that later proved to be a less than wonderful idea? Looking back, she realized that impulsively pulling Jack into the back seat of the Renault with her was probably not the best of all possible ideas, but neither of them had been thinking about the potential consequences at that moment. And she wasn't sorry that they were having a baby, despite the townspeople's opinions. Their child had been conceived in love, a far better beginning than any child she might have had with Cal.

            For a moment, Rose wondered where Cal was, but quickly put him out of her mind. She had more important things to think about, like her wedding to Jack in just over two weeks.

            Rose selected her fabric and waited for the saleswoman to cut the correct length for her. She eyed the two gossips as she stood at the measuring table. Thelma was trying to control her children, one of whom was trying to climb a sewing machine and the other of whom had discovered a pair of scissors and a dressmaker's dummy.

            Rose half-smiled as the store owner began haranguing Thelma loudly about her children's behavior. She thought she was so superior, but she couldn't even control her own children. And two of them, so close in age...she's no better than me, Rose thought snidely. She just happened to be married.

            Rose paid for her purchases and left the store. Thelma recoiled as Rose passed her, as though she was being contaminated. I'm no more contaminated than she is, Rose thought, giving Thelma her best superior upper class look as she swept out the door.

            Rose hurried to the market to finish her shopping, enduring more sideways glances and rude behavior. It was a relief to return home. Fortunately, the house that she and Jack were staying in was on the edge of town, out of the way of most of their rude neighbors.

            It was different for Jack, Rose thought, as she made her way back toward their own neighborhood. Although some people also condemned him for living with her outside of marriage, it was different for him. Young men were expected to sow their wild oats, while young women were supposed to be exemplary members of society. Briefly, Rose wondered just who the young men were supposed to be sowing their wild oats with, but soon put that thought out of mind. People were friendlier toward Jack, less willing to condemn him for behavior that they viewed as normal, although his living openly with her had caused a few raised eyebrows.

            When she reached home, Rose put her purchases away and stretched out for a few minutes, putting her feet up. Her feet and ankles swelled more now than they ever had before she became pregnant, and she spent far more time on her feet than she had before.

            Eventually, Rose hauled herself to her feet and went into the tiny kitchen to fix herself some lunch. Jack wouldn't be home from work until late in the afternoon. As she stood at the window, looking out over the unpaved street, she suddenly wished that they could move somewhere else. She knew that Jack liked Chippewa Falls, but she was tired of the townspeople's condemnation. She also worried about how they would treat her child once it was born. She could tolerate a bit of condemnation herself, and had long since learned that scandal eventually died down once people found something else to talk about, but she worried about the baby. There had been a girl in her finishing school who had been the daughter of an upper class man and his mistress, and she had been treated with disdain, taunted by the other girls and kept on the fringes of their activities—when she was allowed to participate at all. Rose was ashamed to remember that she had been one of those who had picked on the girl, badgering her about her illegitimate status and keeping her out of their exclusive social circle. She had learned her lesson now, but she knew how people treated those who were illegitimate.

            As Rose finished her lunch and washed the few dishes, she wondered if she could convince Jack to move somewhere else—someplace where people didn't know that their child had been conceived out of wedlock. She doubted that Chippewa Falls would be a good place to raise their child—not unless the townspeople suddenly had a change of heart, and she doubted that was going to happen.

            Rose spent the afternoon working on her wedding dress. She had to do all the work by hand, since she couldn't afford a sewing machine, but fortunately a certain amount of hand sewing was considered essential to the education of an upper class girl, and she could sew fairly well.

            Jack came in around 5:30, as Rose was standing over the wood-burning stove, trying to make dinner. She still hadn't quite mastered the art of cooking—except for a few fancy dishes, she had never learned to cook as a girl, and Jack had had to teach her most of what she needed to know. She still had a penchant for over-cooking or under-cooking things, although she was better than she had been six months earlier.

            Rose had the oven door open, trying to figure out why something could burn on the outside and still be raw on the inside, when Jack came into the kitchen. He waited until she had closed the oven door before coming up to her and putting his arms around her, feeling the baby move inside her. "How was your day?" he asked, as Rose turned around in his arms to hug him back.

            He had already noticed her sewing project spread across the table, so he assumed she had gone into town, but he was unprepared for her vehement response.

            "I hate this town!" she told him, pulling away and wrapping her arms around her swollen middle. "They're all a bunch of rude, gossiping...old biddies!"

            Jack was aware that people talked about them, but he hadn't realized how much it upset Rose. Rose had never struck him as the sort to care overmuch about what other people thought, but apparently the constant gossip was getting to her. It annoyed him, too, but he was used to being looked down upon by the "superior" people that he met. Rose had always been at the top of the heap, so it bothered her more.

            "What happened?" he asked, trying to understand what had set her off.

            Rose took a deep breath, and then told him about the gossips in the store, about the women who crossed the street to avoid being contaminated by her, and about the men who looked at her speculatively, wondering just how easy she was.

            Jack had noticed the people gossiping about them, and the women who avoided Rose, but he hadn't been aware of the way that men looked at her.

            "They don't look at me like that when you're around. They assume that I'm yours. But when you're not there, they look. And I know what they're thinking. Cal used to look at me the same way."

            "Have any of them actually...ah...propositioned you?"

            Rose rolled her eyes. "Of course not. They don't want a woman whose stomach precedes her down the street. It wouldn't surprise me, though, if one of them did proposition me after the baby is born."

            "We'll be married by then. The wedding is only a little over two weeks away."

            "Yes, and I'm going to waddle down the aisle."

            "You're not that big, yet."

            "I'm getting there, and people will be watching, wondering what scandal we'll create next. Why didn't we get married months ago?"

            "Because you wanted to wait until we had a house to live in, and I had a job, and we had time to prepare for a wedding..." He raised an eyebrow at her.

            Rose scowled. "Don't confuse me with logic, Jack. I want to move somewhere else."

            He sat down at the table, thinking. "We can't afford to move right now. We're barely making ends meet as it is. We can't just run off whenever things get uncomfortable."

            "What happened to 'heading for the horizon', Jack? You never had a problem with being poor before."

            "The baby happened. We can't just go roaming around, sleeping under bridges and riding the rails, with you expecting a baby in two and a half months. It isn't safe for either of you."

            "I could help. I've got some skills now, and I could work..."

            "Doing what? Many employers won't hire women, let alone women in the family way."

            "I'd think of something."

            "I'm sure you would, but the fact remains that staying here is the best option for now. Maybe after the baby is born, and is old enough to travel, we can try to find someplace else, but for now..."

            "I hate this place!"

            "Not everyone is that bad. Some people are more accepting, like Louise."

            Rose snorted rudely, telling Jack exactly what she thought of his nosy ex-girlfriend.

            He sighed. "We'll be married soon anyway, and people will find something else to gossip about. They'll forget."

            "No, they won't, Jack. People here are no more accepting or forgiving than they are in high society. They won't accept the baby, and I won't see my child mistreated just because its parents married after it was conceived."

            "I think they'll forget—"

            "They won't." And Rose told Jack about the illegitimate girl that she had gone to finishing school with, about how they had taunted her, and about how the girl had finally escaped to a marriage to one of the lower members of high society.

            Jack listened, considering Rose's arguments, but not so sure that she was right about the way that people would treat their child. He did understand that Rose was more concerned with how people acted toward the baby than how they acted toward her—she still didn't care what others thought—but he also realized that another move was not an option at the moment. The baby wasn't due until mid-January anyway, so it would be a while before they would have to worry about it.

            "I've been thinking, Rose, but there's just no way we can afford to move now. Even if we could find a place to live in another town, I would still need to find a new job, and jobs are scarcer in the winter, when a lot of the farm work shuts down and people come into the towns looking for jobs. We need to stay here for the time being. Maybe in the spring we can go somewhere else, but for now we need to stay where we are. People might change their attitudes somewhat after we get married, anyway. It's not as if our baby will be born out of wedlock. People will come around, you'll see."

            "Maybe," Rose conceded grudgingly, but she doubted it. Some people had a long memory, and were very slow to forgive, even when no harm had been done to them. But Jack was right. They couldn't simply "head off to the horizon" with a baby on the way, and she supposed that she could tolerate things until the spring.


	4. I Do

Chapter Four

November 13, 1912

            Rose stood in front of the mirror in her wedding dress, examining her reflection critically. She had done a good job on her dress, she thought, examining the seams and the bit of embroidery around the neckline. She had worked on the dress every day since she had purchased the materials, and had just finished it last night. The white cotton was a little thin for November in Wisconsin, but Rose didn't plan on being outdoors very long, and the fabric had been inexpensive.

            She had embroidered a series of yellow and red roses around the neckline, intertwined. Embroidery was one of the skills she had learned as a child, and she had always had a talent for it.

            Rose stepped back, examining the way the dress hung on her. She had chosen an empire waist style, both for comfort and to disguise her expanding girth. While she wasn't quite waddling yet—Jack had been right about that—she didn't quite look like most brides on their wedding days. Not only was her mid-section swollen, but she had gained a little weight with her pregnancy, and her face was a bit fuller than it had been. Still, she thought, she didn't look bad, and she thought that Jack would appreciate her efforts.

            Rose tucked one last hairpin into her coif and left the bedroom, hurrying out to where Jack was waiting for her in the front room. It was going against tradition, to see him before the wedding, but they had already broken most of the rules regarding courtship and weddings, so she didn't think it would make much of a difference.

            Jack was sitting on a wooden chair in the front room, nervously readjusting his tie, when Rose emerged from the bedroom. He took in her appearance appreciatively, noting the roses she had embroidered on her dress. Yellow to symbolize him, and red to symbolize her, he guessed. Rose saw him fidgeting with his tie and fixed it for him.

            "You ready?" he asked her, getting to his feet and reaching for both their coats.

            "I'm ready," she told him, her eyes lighting up for the first time in days. This was her wedding day, the day she had dreamed of since she had been a little girl, and she was marrying the best of men.

            Jack helped her into her coat, taking care not to wrinkle her dress, and took her arm, escorting her to the door. Rose smiled at him, a happy smile that could light up a room.

            Her smile faded a little as they stepped out the door and she saw the person that Jack had talked into driving them to the church—Harold Calvert, an old friend of Jack's—and one of those who had looked her over speculatively.

            She eyed him warily as she and Jack climbed into the old carriage he was driving, but he appeared not to notice. Of course not, Rose thought. He wouldn't want Jack to know that he'd been ogling his fiancée.

            The ride to the church was quiet. Jack put his arm around Rose's shoulders, and she smiled, forgetting about Calvert. Even if this was an untraditional wedding, it was still very special to her, and she was happy. Settling back, Rose thought about what her wedding to Cal would have been like.

            It would have been much sooner, to start with. The wedding had been scheduled for June, but Rose's "death" had put an end to those plans. Rose had never contacted her mother after the sinking, to let her know she was alive. Of course, her mother wasn't stupid, and she might well have made the connection between Rose DeWitt-Bukater and Rose Dawson, but Rose wasn't about to contact her and find out. She had no intention of being dragged back to Philadelphia to marry Cal. She might contact her, though, Rose thought, after she and Jack were legally married. She couldn't be married to two men at once.

            When they arrived at the church, Jack and Rose went their separate ways. It was only a short time until the ceremony, and Jack would be waiting for her at the altar.

            Rose stood at the back of the church, patting her hair to make sure it was still in place. Someone handed her a bouquet of flowers, and Rose turned, surprised, to see Louise.

            She scowled, irritably. Who had appointed Louise her bridesmaid? But she was glad that someone had thought about flowers. She had been so busy sewing her dress, and taking care of the house and worrying about the townspeople's reaction, that she hadn't even thought about flowers. She wondered where Louise had gotten them. Not many flowers bloomed in Wisconsin in November.

            The strains of the wedding march sounded through the church, and Rose began making her way up the aisle. Louise slipped into a seat at the back, allowing Rose to walk up alone. Rose glanced around her as she walked, noting the few people who had come to the wedding—Louise, Harold Calvert, the elderly couple that Jack had rented the house from. They looked on approvingly as Rose made her way to the altar, pleased that Jack was doing the right thing by Rose.

            Two other people were present to witness the wedding—a woman who ran a small restaurant in town and had little respect for other people's opinions of what women should and should not do, and the man who owned the store that Rose had purchased the materials for her dress at. He had seen her selecting the fabric for her wedding gown, and had heard the women gossiping about her, so he had decided to attend the wedding, both out of curiosity and to support one of his better customers. Rose had come into his store several times, and she never left fingerprints on the fabric, or placed items where they didn't belong, or criticized the items being sold in a loud, rude voice. She always paid her bill promptly, and didn't have small children that she let run amok with scissors or other sharp objects.

            The last strains of music faded away as Rose made her way to where Jack stood. He reached for her hand, smiling, as she came up the few steps to the altar. Rose took his hand and came to stand beside him. As they turned to face each other, the minister began speaking the words that would make them husband and wife.

            As the minister spoke, both Jack and Rose thought about the events that had brought them to this moment. Jack thought about the fire that had killed his parents five years earlier, leaving him on his own, about the years spent wandering, doing a variety of jobs and practicing his art, about traveling to Europe and eventually winning his ticket for the Titanic, and then meeting Rose and falling in love with her. They had been separated when the ship went down, but had found each other again when the boat had come back to search for survivors, and they had both been rescued.

            Rose, too, thought about the events that had brought them here. She had been charmed by Cal initially—he could be very charming when he chose—but after her mother had arranged the engagement, she had grown disenchanted with him. It wasn't that Cal was such a bad person, but he was arrogant and condescending, and far too concerned with what the other members of society thought. He was willing to go to great lengths to keep what he thought rightfully belonged to him—such as the way he had framed Jack in an attempt to put a stop to Jack and Rose's budding relationship—and, while he usually kept his temper under tight control, when he did lose it he was out of control. Rose could still hear the sounds of smashing china as he had overturned the breakfast table in a fit of temper over her dancing with Jack. She was well rid of him.

            After she and Jack had been separated in the water, Rose had found a piece of wood to lie on, while Jack had been found holding onto a life preserver. It was Rose who had seen Jack, half-frozen and barely able to move, holding onto the life preserver a short distance from the crowd of people. He had looked up when she called his name, and the rescuers in the boat, who had at first thought him dead, had pulled him into the boat. Rose had pulled him close, wrapping the oversized coat around both of them and pulling two blankets around them. After they had boarded the Carpathia, they had both been taken to the ship's hospital, where both had been found to be suffering from hypothermia but were otherwise fine. They had spent about a month in New York after the Carpathia had docked, and then headed for Chippewa Falls.

            Rose snapped back to attention as the minister spoke to her. "Do you, Rose DeWitt Bukater, take this man, Jack Dawson, to be your lawfully wedded husband? To love, honor, and cherish, for better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do you part?"

            Rose responded without hesitation. "I do."

            She had been a little surprised when the minister had told them that he would not use the word "obey" in the wedding ceremony. She knew that Cal would have expected her to be obedient, and while Jack seemed to respect her mind and her judgment, she had assumed that it was a wife's place to obey her husband, even against her better judgment. But Jack had agreed with the minister; he felt that Rose was very intelligent, and could think for herself without his telling her what to do. The minister himself had long been of the opinion that all people were equal—his parents had been abolitionists and supporters of women's suffrage, as had his grandparents, and they had passed the ideals of freedom along to him—and this opinion had been strongly supported by his wife, who had been a working woman before their marriage and had later taught herself the complex task of playing the organ, proving that women, too, could be intelligent.

            The minister turned to Jack, repeating basically the same words that had been said to Rose. Jack's response was the same. "I do."

            "Then by the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride."

            Jack and Rose embraced, their lips meeting in a gentle kiss of love and promise. Then they turned and walked back down the aisle together.

            Rose beamed, her joy in the moment overcoming any irritation she felt at the presence of Louise and Harold. It had been a small wedding, but it had also been a happy one, just as she had wanted. Looking up at Jack, she saw that he was smiling, too, his face as happy as hers.

            Once outside, they waited for a few minutes, greeting the people who had come to see the wedding, and got an unexpected surprise—the woman who ran the restaurant offered them a free wedding dinner that evening.

            Jack looked at Rose, gauging her opinion. She nodded, agreeing to the idea. The woman who had made the offer, Mrs. Karen Allen, was one of the few who hadn't looked at her askance for her unconventional lifestyle, and Rose was glad for her support.

            It was only a block to the restaurant, so Jack told Harold that he could leave, much to Rose's relief. She felt uncomfortable in Harold's presence, although she hadn't told Jack why. Jack and Harold had been friends since childhood, and Rose didn't want to ruin that just because Harold couldn't keep his eyes to himself. She and Jack were married now, anyway, and most men would consider her taken.

            Mrs. Allen had the one waitress in her restaurant set up a table in a small private room for Jack and Rose, and served their meal herself, stopping to chat between courses. She was a warm, friendly woman, with an open mind and a quirky sense of humor, and encouraged them to come back to her restaurant, mentioning to Rose that she would probably be needing a new waitress around February—after Rose's baby was born—and that Rose might be a good candidate. Rose liked the idea—she wanted to help support the family financially, and if she was working they could save enough money to leave Chippewa Falls sooner. She had found some people in the town that she liked, but she still wanted to leave before her child bore the brunt of the less tolerant people's criticism. Mrs. Allen was amenable to the idea of Rose bringing the baby to work with her—she could leave it to sleep in one of the small rooms next to the kitchen—and that way Rose could work and care for her child. Rose mentioned that she and Jack might be leaving in the spring, but Mrs. Allen waved off her concerns. She wanted to give Rose a chance, and she could probably find someone else to wait tables after Rose was gone. There was always someone looking for work.

            Rose told her that she would consider the offer, and then she and Jack left for home. It was a cold, clear night, but Rose hardly felt the cold, snuggled warmly into her coat with Jack's arm around her as they walked.

            It was a long walk back to their house, but neither complained. They talked quietly as they walked through the darkness, discussing their coming baby and their plans for the future. They still wanted to do all the things they had talked about on the Titanic, but now it would take them a little longer, and they would be sharing those experiences with their child. Still, the future looked bright, and, for the moment at least, they were content.


	5. Jealousy

Chapter Five

December 24, 1912

            Rose sighed irritably as she leaned down and pulled a sheet of cookies from the oven. The hot metal burned through the thin potholder, and she swore under her breath, dropping the cookie sheet on the cutting board. Rose put her burnt fingers in her mouth and kicked the oven door shut.

            Glaring at the offending cookie sheet, Rose took a spatula and scraped the cookies off it and onto a plate. It was the first time she had ever attempted to bake cookies, and she had already thrown away one badly burned batch. Eyeing the cookie sheet, she decided that she'd had enough of baking cookies, and gingerly carried it over to be washed. She just hoped that Jack appreciated her efforts.

            As she cleaned up the kitchen, Rose yawned tiredly. She longed for a nap, but whenever she lay down to sleep, the baby woke up and started kicking. The kicking wasn't really that hard, but with her other worries and anxieties, it was just enough to keep her awake.

            The baby was due in three or four weeks, and Rose was worried about the birth. A part of her couldn't wait for the baby to be born, to be able to hold it and care for it, but another part was worried. She was still concerned that something might be wrong with the baby, despite its constant kicking and the fact that she hadn't had any complications. Her mother had borne one child after her, and everything had progressed normally—up until the baby's birth. Rose wasn't sure what had happened, but there had never been any newborn's cry, and later her father had told her that her little brother had died. The odds of the same thing happening to her were low—the majority of babies were born just fine and grew up that way too, but she still worried.

            Added to those worries was the townspeople's continued ostracism of her. Her marriage to Jack had raised their opinions only slightly, and she often felt lonely and isolated in the small house. She had visited occasionally with Mrs. Allen, but she was usually busy running her restaurant, and Rose had few friends.

            Jack had suggested that she befriend Louise, who had dropped by several times, but Rose was still suspicious of his ex-girlfriend's motives. Inside, she knew that she was being silly, that Jack didn't want anyone but her, but Louise's presence still annoyed her. She wasn't at all certain that Louise had dropped by to see her, or that she was just being friendly. Jack had never shown any sign of being interested in Louise, but Rose still didn't trust her.

            Rose glanced at the clock; it was almost five and Jack would be home soon. Putting the last of the clean dishes away, she rummaged through the icebox, looking for something for dinner. She crouched down, peering farther into the icebox, wishing that she had bought more than just the food for their Christmas dinner tomorrow, but unwilling to endure the stares of the townspeople any more than she had to.

            Rose finally emerged with eggs, bacon, cheese, and a cabbage. Rising with difficulty, she plopped the food on the counter and pulled a can of green beans and half a loaf of bread from a cupboard shelf. It wasn't going to be the most conventional dinner, but it was all she had the energy for right now. Pulling out a knife, she began to chop the cabbage.

            Around 5:30, she heard voices outside the front and set her work aside to greet them. She recognized Jack's voice, and his laughter, but she wasn't quite sure who the other voice belonged to; only that it was high-pitched and female.

            Rose opened the front door, and was greeted with the sight of Jack and Louise standing just outside the front gate, laughing over something. A sudden, irrational surge of jealousy washed over her, as she watched her husband laughing with the pretty, slender brunette. Rose suddenly felt very fat and ungainly, and she was about to go back into the house when Jack saw her standing there.

            Waving good-bye to Louise, he headed up the front steps to greet Rose, only to have her abruptly walk inside and slam the door in his face. Surprised and annoyed, he followed her inside.

            Rose was already back in the kitchen, attacking the concoction she had started with a spatula. When Jack walked up to her, she turned her back, refusing to look at him.

            "Rose, what's going on?" he asked her, putting his hand on her shoulder.

            Rose shrugged his hand off and turned abruptly, spattering grease across the wall with her spatula. "What were you doing with her?" she demanded.

            Jack sighed. "We were talking."

            "And laughing."

            "She said something funny. So what?"

            "What was so funny?"

            "She had a story about a dog trying to run across the icy porch and falling off. That's all."

            "I'll bet." Rose scowled angrily. "What was she doing here?"

            "She lives just a block away, you know, and she went to the market, like a lot of people, to buy food for tomorrow. This house is along her way. I'm assuming you went shopping today, too."

            "That has nothing to do with anything and you know it! Why were you being so friendly with her?"

            "Because we're old friends." Jack was trying to be calm and rational, but Rose was making it very difficult.

            "She wants you back."

            "No, she doesn't. Things were over before I even left, and that was over five years ago. I don't know why you're acting so jealous of her—"

            "I'm not jealous!"

            "You're sure acting like you are!"

            "Fine. You think I'm jealous? Maybe it's because you think I have something to be jealous about."

            "Rose, you know—"

            "I don't know anything, Jack. All I know is that you were out there with her, laughing like you were having the time of your life, while I slaved here over this stove!"

            "You want me to help cook? I'll help cook. Just tell me what you need me to do."

            Rose threw down the spatula. "You can finish making dinner by yourself. You can eat by yourself, too. Or you can invite your old girlfriend over. It's all the same to me." She stalked out of the kitchen with as much grace as she could, walking into the bedroom and slamming the door.

            Jack moved the pan off the stove so it wouldn't burn before following Rose. He tried to open the bedroom door, but she had propped it shut with a chair.

            "Rose, open the door!"

            "No!"

            "Dammit, Rose..."

            "Don't swear at me, Jack. You're the one at fault here."

            "I'm the one at fault?"

            "Oh, that's right. Your old girlfriend is to blame, too." Rose's voice was laden with sarcasm.

            "I don't even know what you're talking about!"

            "The hell you don't! Think about it for a minute."

            "Rose, open the goddamned door!"

            There was a shuffling sound, and the sound of furniture being moved. Then the door flew open. Rose stood there with an armload of pillows and blankets. She threw them at him, then slammed the door again.

            "Go find your own place to sleep!" she snapped, as she pushed the chair back under the doorknob. "That nice little house about a block from here should do!"

            "Rose!"

            She didn't listen. Stalking over to the bed, she kicked off her shoes and lay down, not even bothering to undress first. She was hungry, and tired, and already regretting her part in their fight, but she wasn't about to come out and apologize. She'd had her fill of Jack's old girlfriend, and if he preferred Louise's company to hers, that was his prerogative.

            Rose knew that she was being irrational, but she didn't care. She was worn out, tired of being gossiped about, worried about the baby, and she felt more ungainly every day. Jack and Louise had just happened to show up when she was ready to explode, and Jack had taken the brunt of her irritation.

            She heard Jack moving around in the kitchen, and smelled the food, but she refused to go out and talk to him. She was still irritated by Louise's appearance at her front gate, and she wasn't ready to apologize to Jack for blowing up at him.

            Rose finally changed her clothes, and crawled under the covers, but sleep was a long time in coming.


	6. Christmas

Chapter Six

December 25, 1912

            Rose awoke shivering. Pulling the blankets farther up over her, she momentarily wondered why. She wasn't usually so cold when she awoke. Then, remembering the fight the night before, she realized why.

            The small bedroom was unheated, which made it especially chilly on a winter morning, but usually she awoke covered by a heavy layer of blankets and snuggled up close to Jack. She had pulled off several of the blankets the night before and thrown them at Jack, and of course he wasn't sleeping beside her.

            Slowly, Rose sat up, the remaining blankets still clutched in front of her. She felt terrible about their fight, and knew that it was mostly her fault. She had been tired, worried, and—she admitted to herself—jealous of Louise, and she had let things be blown out of proportion. She wondered if Jack was still in the house, or if he had gone to find some friendlier place to sleep. She'd kill him if he had, she thought, and then immediately berated herself for being so suspicious. Rising from the bed, she pulled on her robe and shoes, and opened the curtains to look out the window.

            A soft snow was falling outside, piling against the walls and the outer windowsill. The sun had risen, but it was dark enough to make the time impossible to tell. Still, Rose thought that it must be at least eight o'clock, as the sun rose late in the winter in this northern clime.

            Pulling the chair away from the doorknob, she quietly opened the door and looked out. A few banked coals still burned in the fireplace in the front room, and it was warmer than the bedroom had been. A blanket-wrapped figure lay in the middle of the floor, sound asleep.

            Rose approached Jack slowly, still feeling guilty about throwing him out of their bedroom. He had the blankets wrapped around him like a cocoon, his head lying on the pillow she had tossed out to him. The hard wooden floor must have been uncomfortable, but Rose guessed that he'd slept in so many strange places that a wooden floor was little problem. His blond hair was tousled, sticking out every which way, as if he'd tossed and turned for a long time before finally falling asleep.

            Slowly, Rose lowered herself to the floor beside him, her unwieldy belly making it a difficult process. Moving to a sitting position, she shook him gently.

            Jack awoke with a start, looking around him. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he looked at Rose.

            "You finally decided to come out."

            Rose nodded, unable to speak past the lump in her throat. Jack sat up, untangling himself from the blankets and looking around.

            "What time is it?"

            Rose finally found her voice. "Morning. What time I don't know." She hesitated. "Jack...about last night...I'm sorry. I just blew up. I'm not even sure why."

            "People's comments are still bothering you, aren't they?"

            She nodded. "I still want to leave this place."

            "I'll try to find some other place in the spring."

            "Thank you. I appreciate that."

            "What is it about Louise that bothers you so much?"

            Rose thought about that. "I don't know. She's your ex-girlfriend."

            "Rose, we split up before I even left. It was years ago. We're just friends now, and I have no interest in her as anything else."

            "I know. I just...I guess I am a little jealous. She keeps showing up here, and you're always so friendly..."

            "I try to be friendly to everyone. My mother once commented that I never met a stranger."

            "Why does she keep showing up anyway?"

            "I think she wants to befriend you."

            "Me?"

            "Don't act so shocked. Not everyone here is stuck up, you know."

            "I know. But when I look at her...I mean, why wouldn't you be interested? She's slender, and pretty, and knows all about the kind of life you grew up with, while I'm fat, and ungainly, and could probably burn water if I tried hard enough. She's the ideal woman for a man like you."

            "Rose, you're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen. I thought so from the first time I saw you, standing on that deck above me, and you're still beautiful. You aren't fat, either, you're just pregnant, and soon we'll have a brand new baby. As to your domestic skills, or lack thereof, you should have seen some of the awful messes I made when I first left Chippewa Falls and had to learn to cook and do laundry for myself. You're much more skilled than I was."

            Rose smiled a little, picturing Jack trying to learn to cook. Remembering her own early attempts, she laughed. Her skills had certainly improved since then.

            Jack got to his feet, his clothes rumpled from sleeping in them. He helped Rose up, then wrapped his arms around her, feeling the baby move inside her.

            "I love you, Rose. Please try to believe that. I'm not interested in Louise, or anyone else, except you."

            "I know. I'm just being kind of silly, I guess." She hugged him back. "I love you, too. Let's not fight anymore. Truce?"

            "Truce."

            They stood there for a few for minutes, holding each other close, until Rose's stomach growled hungrily. Giggling, she stepped back, remembering that she hadn't eaten dinner the night before.

            Jack gave her a quick kiss. "Why don't we get dressed, and have some breakfast?" he suggested. "Then, after that...well, I got you a couple of Christmas gifts, and maybe we can build the fire up, and you can open them."

            "That's right! It is Christmas! I'd forgotten."

            "See what happens when we fight?" he teased her.

            Rose looked at him with mock annoyance. "Go get dressed. I'll start breakfast."

            By the time Jack came out of the bedroom, breakfast was almost ready. Rose had toasted some bread and cooked some eggs and bacon. Jack joined her at the table, regarding the food appreciatively.

            "You see? You can cook," he told her, digging into his breakfast.

            "Well, I'm going to try to cook something fancier tonight, so we'll find out then."

            "Let me know if you need any help."

            "Count on it."

            After breakfast, Rose got dressed, while Jack placed the gifts he had bought for her under the small tree and waited impatiently.

            "Rose, come on! How long can getting dressed take?"

            "You try getting dressed when you can't see your feet!"

            Finally, she emerged from the room, carrying a couple of wrapped packages herself. Jack had stoked the fire, and it burned brightly, filling the room with warmth. Rose slowly lowered herself to the floor beside him, preferring to sit close to Jack than to sit in one of the rickety wooden chairs that decorated the small room.

            She handed one of the packages to Jack, placing the other beneath the tree. "Open mine first," she encouraged him.

            Jack unwrapped it slowly, revealing a leather-bound portfolio. It wasn't quite of as high a quality as the one he had lost when the Titanic sank, but it was still nice. Looking inside, he noted that Rose had stocked it with plenty of paper, as well as whatever art supplies she could find.

            "Where did you get this?" he asked, wondering if any store in Chippewa Falls carried leather portfolios.

            "I ordered it through a catalog back in October. I still had some money left from what Cal put in the coat, so I used it to buy this for you. I thought you'd like it."

            "I do. This is really nice." He turned it over, examining it. "It's almost like the one I left on Titanic."

            "I know. That's why I chose it. That portfolio seemed special to you."

            "It was. My parents gave it to me for Christmas when I was fourteen, in 1906. I was out looking for things to draw when the fire started, which was why it, and I, survived. This really means a lot." A piece of paper had fallen out and landed on the floor, and he picked it up, reading what it said.

_Jack,_

_I thought this would be special to you. I tried to find all the art supplies that you had before, but some of them couldn't be found. I hope you like this, and maybe one of these days you can draw me like one of your French girls again. Merry Christmas._

_With all my love,_

_Rose_

            Jack tucked the piece of paper back inside the portfolio, genuinely touched by Rose's request. He knew that she still had the Heart of the Ocean, tucked safely away under a loose floorboard. He turned, looking closely at her, picturing how she would look wearing it now—if she would allow him to draw her in her present state.

            "What?" Rose asked, seeing him looking at her.

            "I was just thinking how you would look wearing the diamond now."

            Rose blushed slightly, but was intrigued. "Could you draw me wearing it now?"

            "Sure, but later. Right now, let's open the rest of these gifts."

            "All right, but...if you draw me now, I also want you to draw me again later, after the baby is born."

            "Sure." He handed her one of her gifts.

            Rose pulled the ribbon and paper off, careful to save it. It might be useful later. She opened the small box, her eyes lighting up when she saw the small gold pendant inside. Her mother would have turned her nose up at such an inexpensive piece of jewelry, but Rose was delighted with it. The pendant was in the shape of a bird in flight, hanging from a gold chain. She lifted it carefully from the box and reached to put it around her neck. Jack saw what she was doing and helped her, admiring the way the gold looked against her fair skin and red hair. It had been inexpensive, but he had thought she would like it. From her expression, he had guessed correctly.

            "Thank you, Jack. It's beautiful." Rose touched the delicate pendant, her fingers tracing the outline of the bird. She reached under the tree and pulled out the other gift she had found for him.

            It was a small collection of cards with reproductions of paintings by well-known artists. Rose had found them in a store in Chippewa Falls and had purchased one of each, for a penny apiece. Represented were such artists as Picasso, Van Gogh, and Jack's favorite—Monet. There were two pictures each from Picasso and Van Gogh, and three Monets, since Rose knew how much Jack admired his art.

            Jack looked through them, admiring each one. The reproductions weren't as exquisite as the real things, but the real paintings were far beyond their limited budget. One of the Monet pictures was a reproduction of one that Rose had purchased and taken with her on the Titanic.

            Jack looked them slowly, examining each one, until Rose cleared her throat impatiently, looking at the last gift under the tree.

            "Can't wait, can you?" he teased her, handing it to her.

            Inside was a drawing that Jack had made of her, standing in front of the house with a gentle breeze blowing through her hair. Rose wasn't sure when he had completed it—there were flowers in the background, and her belly was softly rounded with their coming child. Probably early in the fall, before the frost had killed the flowers. It was carefully placed inside a wooden frame, with a glass panel protecting it.

            Rose sat looking at it, admiring the attention to detail. She recognized the flowers that she had planted the previous summer, in her first attempt at gardening. Only a few had survived, but those had bloomed beautifully until the first frost.

            "You can hang that on the wall, and that way our children will be able to see where we first lived."

            Rose nodded, frowning a little and placing her hand on her swollen stomach. The baby kicked, a tiny foot connecting with her hand. Jack noticed her look.

            "Still worried about the baby?"

            She nodded. "That was one of things that was bothering me yesterday. What if something goes wrong?"

            "Probably nothing will, and there is a doctor in Chippewa Falls."

            "I know, but...sometimes they can't help."

            "That's true, but the baby seems to be healthy and strong, from the way it kicks, and you're healthy and strong, too."

            "My mother had one baby after me, and it died at birth. Everything seemed normal, up until it was born. But it never cried, and later Father told me that my little brother had died. I was only five years old, but I still remember it."

            "Any number of things could have gone wrong," Jack told her. "The baby could have been breech, or had something wrong with it that wouldn't let it live outside its mother, or had the cord wrapped around the neck..."

            "You're not making things any easier."

            "Sorry. But most of the time, things go fine, and it's been almost thirteen years since your brother was born. They've learned some things since. You're stronger than your mother was, too, and that should help."

            Rose nodded, hoping that he was right. "I don't know if I'm really stronger than Mother. She was always rather thin, but she got plenty of rest when she was carrying my brother, and things still turned out badly."

            "A lot of women work hard when they're pregnant, and have healthy babies. Some people say that hard work makes the mother stronger. It certainly works that way in animals."

            "How do you know so much about these things?"

            "I grew up on a farm. Farm kids learn a lot of things that city kids don't. I was four years old the first time a saw a barn cat have kittens, and I've seen calves, foals, and puppies born since. I even saw a human baby born once, in a back alley in France."

            "In an alley?"

            "The mother was a prostitute, and was stuck having it alone. I hung around in case she needed help. Human babies are born a little differently from animals, but not that differently."

            "Did she need help?"

            Jack laughed at Rose's expression. "No, she figured things out for herself. She thanked me for hanging around, though. I drew a picture of her later, nursing the baby."

            "Will you try to be there when our baby comes? I know that doctors don't usually want the father in the room, but I'd feel better if you were there."

            "I can try. No promises, but I'll try to be there."

            "Thank you, Jack. Cal probably would have found all this extremely inconvenient."

            "Good thing you didn't marry him, then."

            "No lie. Can you imagine how he would have reacted to being asked to raise your child?"

            "I hate to imagine it."

            "Me, too. I'm glad I got away from him."

            Jack put his arms around Rose, pulling her close. "Merry Christmas, Rose."

            "I love you, Jack."

*****

            As he had promised, Jack drew a picture of Rose wearing the Heart of the Ocean and nothing else. She blushed a little when she removed her robe, her swollen mid-section seeming very prominent to her, but Jack had seen her unclothed enough times that she wasn't too embarrassed. It was a little different being drawn in such a state from undressing quickly and slipping on other clothes, but after her initial embarrassment, she relaxed, posing artfully on the bed while Jack drew her portrait.

            Afterwards, Rose got up with difficulty, coming forward to view the drawing. It looked beautiful, even her swollen belly, and Rose insisted that Jack keep it in his portfolio, where only they were likely to see it. Then, blushing, Rose asked Jack whether he knew if certain activities were possible in her very pregnant state.

            They didn't come out for another hour.

*****

            Jack and Rose lounged around the house for most of the day. At around two o'clock, Rose started dinner, and Jack, remembering her comment about "slaving over the stove", helped her. They worked companionably for about an hour, until someone knocked on the front door.

            Rose answered the door, and immediately felt her hackles raise as she saw Louise, carrying a pumpkin pie, standing at the door. Despite her conversation with Jack that morning, and despite his reassurances that she was the only one for him, she still didn't want Louise around. The perfectly baked pie only highlighted her own inadequacies—she didn't even know how to bake a pie—and she was tempted to slam the door in Louise's face. Only years of training in self-control and politeness allowed her to smile tensely at Louise and invite her in.

            Jack stepped out of the kitchen. "Rose? Who is it?" He noticed Louise and his wife facing off tensely and sighed, trying to diffuse the situation. He didn't understand why Louise kept trying, when it was obvious that Rose didn't like her, but Louise had always been one who tried to befriend everybody. The worse a person acted, the more she tried to reform them.

            "Louise. Merry Christmas," Jack said to her. "What brings you out in the snow?"

            "Mother and I baked pies yesterday, and I thought that you two might enjoy one of them."

            Rose opened her mouth, and Jack sent her a warning look. Louise was only being friendly, and they had few enough friends in this town.

            "Thank you," Rose told Louise stiffly. "It's getting late, so I'm sure you'll want to be getting home as soon as possible."

            Jack grimaced at Rose's rudeness. "Would you like some coffee before you go back out there?" he asked Louise, knowing that he was asking for another fit of temper from Rose.

            "Uh...sure. Thanks." Louise was almost ready to give up on Rose. She had a good idea of why Rose disliked her, but she wasn't sure what to do about it. Still, in a small town like Chippewa Falls, such animosity was likely to be noticed, and commented upon, and she wanted them to at least be friendly.

            Rose marched Jack into the kitchen. "Why did you offer her coffee?"

            "She's a guest, and she went to the trouble of going out in the cold and bringing us this pie. It's the least we can do. Most guests I would invite to stay for a while, but knowing how you feel about her, I'm only offering her coffee."

            Rose took a deep breath and counted to ten. At the moment, she was more upset with Jack than with Louise, so she stalked out of the kitchen and into the front room.

            Louise was sitting on one of the rickety wooden chairs, looking very uncomfortable. Rose walked over to the fireplace, added another stick of wood, and turned to glare at her.

            "Why do you keep coming over here?"

            Louise looked taken aback. "The first time I came by, it was because I'd just gotten back into town after being gone for several months visiting relatives. Someone told me that my old friend Jack Dawson was back in town, and I wanted to say hello."

            "And confirm the rumors, no doubt."

            "I will admit that I was curious about you. But I'm not going to judge you, or Jack, on the way you live, or how long it took you to marry, or the fact that you were expecting a baby before the wedding."

            "You, of course, joined in the gossip."

            Louise rolled her eyes. "I didn't need to join in the gossip. People all over town were talking about you. It's been a while since this town had a good scandal."

            Rose opened her mouth to speak again, but Louise stopped her. "I don't think you're upset with me over the gossip, or the fact that you're a source of delicious scandal for the small-minded members of this town. I've never said a word against you. I think the reason you're so upset is that you think I'm after Jack."

            Rose gasped with outrage. "I never said that!"

            "You didn't need to say it. The look on your face every time I've stopped by said it all. You're jealous."

            "I am not!"

            "You are. Look, Rose DeWitt Bukater of Philadelphia society, if I wanted Jack, I would have to get you out of the way first. If I wanted you out of the way, all I would have to do is contact your mother and fiancé in Philadelphia, who, according to the paper, are very upset over your 'death'. No doubt they'd come and get you immediately."

            "What makes you think that I'm from Philadelphia society?"

            Louise rolled her eyes. "This may be a small town, but it's not that countrified. Some of us do read the newspapers, you know. And even though Philadelphia society isn't that important here, and most people won't pay attention to it, those of us who travel are sometimes exposed to new things. My relatives, who live in a small town in Pennsylvania, are interested in the goings-on of Philadelphia. I read about you in the papers there."

            Rose stared at her, her mouth hanging open in shock. She had suspected that Louise knew who she was, but when Louise hadn't said anything, Rose had wondered if she had been mistaken. Now, she wondered just what game Louise was playing.

            "So, why haven't you contacted my mother and _ex-fiancé?"_

            "Because I don't see any reason to. Despite what you think, I am not interested in Jack in that way. We're friends, nothing more. We dated a bit back in high school, but only for a couple of months. We just didn't...click. We parted as friends, and remained friends until Jack left town after his parents died. Even if I was interested, I wouldn't stand a chance. He has eyes only for you. Anyone can see that, except maybe you."

            Rose scowled at her. "I know that Jack loves me."

            "So why are you so jealous?"

            Rose looked away. "You're everything he could want. You're pretty, slender, a good cook, well-liked in this town, and you don't have any scandals hanging over you."

            "Rose, I am not what he wants. After roaming for five years, I doubt he would be satisfied with a small town housewife anyway, and he keeps talking about how special you are. He's not interested in me. As to pretty...I've had my share of admirers, but you have the kind of beauty that can overshadow every other woman in a room. You'll still be beautiful when you're a hundred years old. And when it comes to being slender—you'll get your figure back after the baby is born, even if you have to work at it a little. Trust me on this."

            "And I suppose you would know."

            Louise looked at her levelly. "Actually, I would." She leaned closer to Rose. "I'm assuming that you've learned about the kind of damage that can be done by spreading rumors, so you know to keep your mouth shut. What I'm going to tell you is not to leave this room. Don't tell anyone, not even Jack."

            Rose nodded, intrigued in spite of herself. "What is it?"

            "When I was away, visiting relatives, I was also expecting a baby."

            "Where was your husband?"

            "I've never been married. As to the baby's father, he's long gone and out of the picture. He doesn't live in this town, and I have no idea where he is now. The whole thing was a mistake."

            "Why didn't you marry him?"

            "The day I told him I was in the family way, he left town. I was a mere dalliance for him, and he didn't want to be stuck with me."

            "What happened to the baby?"

            "A childless couple in Pennsylvania adopted her. I doubt I'll see her again."

            "Don't you miss her?"

            "I only saw her once, right after she was born. After that, her new parents came and took her home. They'll be good parents, I'm sure. She'll grow up well." Louise avoided the question.

            Rose unconsciously moved her hand to rest on her stomach. "I guess I'm pretty lucky."

            "You are. Your baby's father is a good man, who chose to stay with you, and who loves you and the baby. Many unwed mothers aren't so lucky, and the father disappears, or denies involvement. Then the mother either has to go 'visit relatives', or stay home and raise the baby and face the scandal alone. You didn't even need a shotgun wedding. I think that Jack would have married you whether you were pregnant or not. You've got a good husband, who would go to the ends of the earth for you, and you need to learn to trust him more. You two have something special, something that many people never find."

            Rose looked at the floor, not sure what to say. She had never expected such a confession out of Louise, nor Louise's vehement opinion that Jack and Rose had something special. She had also never considered that Jack might have been talking with Louise about how much Rose meant to him.

            "I guess an apology is in order," she finally said, looking up. "I'm not sure what came over me. I know that Jack loves me, but for some reason I got it into my head that he might be interested in you."

            "Sometimes pregnant women let their emotions get the best of them. I did sometimes."

            "You had more problems than me. Your baby's father abandoned you."

            "And you had to deal with being the subject of gossip. There's a lot of narrow-minded people in this town, some of whom are hypocrites."

            "What I don't understand is why you kept coming back when I'd made it obvious that I didn't like you."

            "I wanted us to be friends. Someone needs to be on your side in this town."

            Rose pulled up the other chair and sat down next to Louise. "I'm sorry. I guess I really misinterpreted things."

            "You had your reasons." Louise held out her hand. "Friends?"

            Rose shook her hand. "Friends."

*****

            Jack placed the pot of coffee and three cups on a tray and headed for the kitchen door. He hadn't heard any shouts or crashes from the front room, so he guessed that both Rose and Louise were keeping their tempers. He stepped out the door tentatively, half-expecting Rose to throw something at him or shove him back into the kitchen.

            What he didn't expect was to see the two women sitting side by side, talking quietly. He wasn't sure what had happened, but they weren't fighting.

            Rose turned as soon as he walked out of the kitchen. "Jack! Why don't you join us? Get that chair out of our room."

            He set the tray on the table, looking at them oddly, trying to figure out just what had happened. The two women saw his look and started giggling.

            Jack shook his head, convinced that even after years of roaming the world and learning about it, he would never understand women. When he returned with the chair, Louise was walking out of the kitchen with the cookies Rose had baked the day before, and Rose was pouring coffee.

            "Jack, I've invited Louise to come to dinner. Is that all right with you?" Rose asked him, handing him a cup of coffee.

            "Uh...sure," he responded, looking from Rose to Louise, wishing that he knew what had happened to suddenly make them friends. Neither one seemed to be willing to talk about it, though, even after he questioned them, so he resigned himself to not knowing.

            "Louise is going to come over early and show me how to make a pie," Rose told him. "I don't know how to do that yet."

            Jack just looked from one to the other, a bewildered expression on his face. He had been ready to break up a fight, and instead the two were giggling like schoolgirls. He didn't understand it at all.


	7. A New Dawson

Chapter Seven

January 18, 1913

            Rose woke abruptly, and sat up, looking into the darkness, wondering what had roused her from sleep. Beside her, Jack slept soundly, the blankets half-pulled up over his head. Rose squinted into the darkness, listening closely, trying to figure out if something was wrong.

            The room was cold, the slight heat from the banked fire in the front room barely penetrating the bedroom. Deciding that nothing was amiss, Rose snuggled down beneath the covers again, moving closer to Jack. He sighed in his sleep and moved closer, snuggling against her warm body.

            Rose lay awake, unable to fall back asleep even after she was certain that nothing was wrong. She stretched out, arching her back slightly, trying to find a comfortable position. The baby was due any day, and her swollen middle made it difficult to get comfortable.

            Rose rubbed her back as an uncomfortable tightening sensation moved through it, working its way around to her stomach, and then subsiding. Nervously, she wondered if this was the beginning of labor. Her lower back had been aching off and on for several days, but last night she had begun to experience the tightening sensations. They had been so far apart that she had dismissed them at first, but they began to be closer together, and more painful, after she had gone to bed.

            Rose looked over at Jack, debating as to whether she should wake him. It would probably be morning soon, and besides, this might not be the beginning of labor. She knew exactly when this baby had been conceived—April 14, 1912, in the back seat of the Renault—but babies came in their own time, and the fact that it was now four days past the due date might not mean anything.

            Rose hefted herself onto her side, snuggling against Jack. She hoped that nothing was wrong. The baby had remained very active until a short time ago, when the movements had slowed, although they had never stopped completely. Rose was concerned that this might be a bad sign, although both the doctor and Louise had assured her that it was perfectly normal for a baby's movements to slow just prior to birth. She had asked the doctor why, but he had brushed aside her question, and Louise had theorized that it was either because the baby was running out of room, or because it was resting in preparation for being born.

            Even now, the baby kicked. Jack moved slightly away from her, and Rose grinned in spite of herself. Jack had never liked being awakened by the baby's movements. It was a good thing, she thought, that women carried the babies and brought them into the world, because if men had that task not many babies would be born. They wouldn't be able to handle the process.

            Rose reached for Jack's hand and placed it on her stomach, feeling the baby move. After a moment, he woke up. Rose squeezed his hand.

            "What's going on?" he asked sleepily, rubbing his eyes.

            Rose didn't reply for a moment, because the tightening sensation in her back had returned, more powerful this time. After a moment, it ended, and she was able to speak to him.

            "I think I'm having the baby."

            "That's right. You're having a baby."

            "No, I mean right now."

            "Now?!" He sat upright in bed, throwing the covers off. Rose grabbed them and pulled them up to her chin. "How long have you been in labor?"

            "I'm not sure...since last night, I think."

            "Why didn't you say something?!"

            Rose almost laughed. He was more nervous than she was.

            "I wasn't sure if it was labor or not."

            "How far apart are the pains?"

            "I don't know—fifteen minutes, maybe?"

            Jack jumped out of bed, nearly tripping over an afghan that had fallen on the floor. He stumbled around in the darkness, looking for his clothes. Finding them, he changed quickly, grateful that it was a Saturday and he didn't have to worry about going to work.

            The first faint light of dawn had just appeared on the horizon as he pulled on his coat and left the house to get the doctor, instructing Rose to stay put. She nodded, then climbed out of bed as soon as she heard the front door close and searched for the chamber pot.

            Rose was crawling back into bed when another pain hit her. She stopped, hand on her stomach, as the pressure intensified, pulling down on her belly. The baby squirmed in protest, tiny arms and legs moving inside her. There was a sudden gush of warm fluid, soaking her nightgown and forming a puddle on the floor. Rose looked down, realizing that her water had broken.

            Stepping back, she walked over to the dresser in a corner of the room and pulled out a fresh nightgown and a towel from the stack on top. Dropping the towel on top of the puddle, she put on the fresh nightgown and crawled into bed, wishing that Jack and the doctor would hurry.

            About twenty minutes later, she heard the front door open, and the voices of Jack and Dr. Mitchell echoed through the house. A moment later, they came into the bedroom.

            Rose was curled up in a fetal position, biting her lower lip as she endured another contraction. It ended as Jack walked over to her.

            "How are you doing?" he asked her, picking up a ribbon from Rose's nightstand and tying her hair back.

            "My water broke," she told him, indicating the towel on the floor.

            Jack bent down and picked up the towel, mopping up the last of the puddle. "I thought I told you to stay in bed," he whispered to her.

            "Nature called." Rose shrugged.

            Jack tossed the towel into the laundry basket in the corner of the room, along with Rose's soaked nightgown. Dr. Mitchell cleared his throat.

            "Mr. Dawson, if you will excuse us..."

            "Stay," Rose told Jack, grabbing his hand.

            "Mrs. Dawson, your husband needs to leave. He doesn't belong here."

            Rose had expected an argument. "Why not?"

            "It's too personal an event for him to witness. Besides, he doesn't know what he's doing."

            "He's delivered baby animals before."

            "You're not an animal, and he doesn't need to witness childbirth anyway."

            "He saw a human baby born once, and he helped create this baby. I don't see how it can be too personal."

            Jack spoke softly to Rose. "Maybe I'd better leave."

            She latched onto his hand and refused to let go. "I want you to stay. We've never done things the proper way before, and there's no reason to start now. I want you here."

            Jack shook his head. "Rose..."

            "No. You're staying. I'm not having this baby without you." Rose's voice was filled with conviction.

            "I don't think you have much of a choice. The baby's going to be born whether I'm here or not."

            "If you can't stay, then neither can he." Rose indicated the doctor. "I'll have this baby on my own, like that prostitute in France."

            "Rose, you've been worrying for months that something would happen to the baby. I don't think now is the time to send the doctor away."

            Rose didn't reply. She closed her eyes and squeezed his hand more tightly as another contraction ripped through her middle. After a moment, she looked up at him again, her eyes pleading.

            Jack looked at the doctor. "I'm staying." He pulled the wooden chair close to Rose's side and sat down beside her, challenging Dr. Mitchell to remove him.

            Dr. Mitchell shook his head. Jack and Rose Dawson had been fodder for scandal for months, and somehow it wasn't surprising that they were refusing to cooperate now.

            "All right," he relented. "You can stay. However," he pointed to the pitcher and bowl on top of the dresser, "you need to wash your hands first. Dirty hands have the potential to cause infection."

            Jack nodded, and did as he was told. When he had scrubbed, he sat down beside Rose again. She was staring at the ceiling as the doctor checked the baby's progress. Finally, Dr. Mitchell pulled Rose's nightgown back down and pulled the covers up over her, declaring that it would be several hours yet.

            Rose and Jack both nodded, and settled in to wait.

*****

            Jack remained at Rose's side all day, leaving only occasionally for a few minutes to bring back food or water. Rose refused to eat, but did accept a cup of tea. Jack found a novel that Rose had been reading, and read it aloud to her between her contractions.

            As the day wore on, Rose's contractions grew closer together. By late afternoon, she was drenched in sweat, gritting her teeth at each new pain. She took both her pillow and Jack's, setting them behind her, finding some slight relief from the discomfort of childbirth in the more upright position.

            Just after sunset, Dr. Mitchell checked Rose and told them that the baby was ready to make its way into the world. Rose tensed, her worries about the baby almost overwhelming her for a moment, but soon she was too busy pushing to think about her fears.

            Jack held Rose's hand the whole time, wincing occasionally as she squeezed it with all her strength. For the most part, she was quiet, just breathing heavily and grunting as she worked to push the child from her body.

            Rose cried out only once, when the baby's head crowned, and a few minutes later she brought a wailing, squirming newborn into the world.

            "It's a boy!" Dr. Mitchell told them, cutting and tying off the baby's umbilical cord. He laid the newborn infant in Rose's arms. She cradled the baby, unmindful of the fact that he was a mess.

            Rose concentrated more upon the sound than the sight of her newborn. The baby wailed furiously, angry at having been taken from his mother's warm body and brought out into the cold room. He kicked, tiny limbs flailing, as he voiced his displeasure.

            She held him close, almost afraid to believe it. Her son was alive, and healthy. Nothing had gone wrong.

            Jack leaned closer, looking at his newborn son. The baby's head was misshapen from the pressures of birth, and the child was covered with blood and birth matter, but the infant was still one of the most beautiful sights he had ever seen. Rose looked at him.

            "He's alive, and healthy," she told him, cradling the squalling baby against her chest, then glared at Dr. Mitchell as he pressed on her stomach, helping her to bring forth the afterbirth.

            Jack reached out to touch a tiny hand, and the baby curled a fist around his finger reflexively, holding on with a strong grip. Jack smiled, reaching out to stroke the infant's cheek. The baby turned his head, rooting, already looking to be fed.

            Dr. Mitchell, satisfied that Rose was all right, took the baby from them for a moment, checking him over and cleaning him up, before returning the blanket-wrapped baby to the parents.

            "Gregory Peter Dawson," Rose whispered, unbuttoning her nightgown and offering the baby a breast. She had no milk for him yet; that would take a day or two. Now, she had only the colostrum that would help protect the baby against diseases for the first few months of his life.

            Little Gregory took suck eagerly, hungry already. Jack stroked the baby's soft head, looking at the tiny features.

            The baby had red hair, like Rose, but it was straight, like his. The infant's eyes were blue, like those of many newborns, but his would probably stay that way, since both Jack and Rose had blue eyes. The baby's cheeks were somewhat chubby, but Jack thought he saw a resemblance to his own father in the newborn's features. Gregory's nose was tiny, but already rather sharp, bearing a certain resemblance to his grandmother, Ruth DeWitt Bukater. The strong, stubborn chin came from none other than Rose.

            Gregory fell asleep at his mother's breast, finally letting go. Jack took him from Rose and burped him, then changed his diaper and placed him in the cradle near Rose's side of the bed. Rose looked on gratefully, glad not to have to get up yet. She was exhausted from the birth.

            When the infant was sleeping soundly in his cradle, Jack returned to Rose. Gently, he helped her out of her nightgown and pulled a fresh one over her head, then pulled the blankets up to her chin and sat back down beside her.

            "Jack?" Rose asked sleepily.

            "What is it?"

            "Where did you come up with the name Gregory Peter Dawson?"

            "Gregory...is just a name that I've heard and liked. Peter was my father's name."

            "Do you think your parents would be proud of their grandson?"

            He nodded. "I think so, although they would probably have given us both hell about conceiving him out of wedlock. But they would have accepted him. They always loved children."

            "And yet, you were an only child."

            He shrugged, shaking his head. "Something was wrong with my mother, and she could never bring a baby to term after she had me. I was born a month early, but I survived, unlike my brothers and sisters. After a while, my parents stopped trying."

            "You were concerned about the outcome of this birth, too, weren't you?"

            Jack nodded. "Yes, but since the baby kept moving, and stayed inside you until he was ready to be born, I figured that everything would be okay."

            Rose's eyes were drooping shut. She snuggled down in the bed, rolling over on her stomach, relishing the ability to do so again after months of sleeping on her back or her side. She was sore from the birth, but she was still happy and content. She had a healthy baby, and that was all that mattered.

            "Thank you, Jack," she whispered. 

            "For what?"

            "For staying with me today, and putting up with me, and for giving me this beautiful baby." She opened her eyes and looked up at him for a moment. "I love you, Jack. This has been one of the most special days of my life. Someday, we'll have to do this again."

            "Someday." He gave her a gentle kiss on the forehead. "I love you, too, Rose. Sleep well."

            Rose curled up under the covers, closing her eyes.


	8. Letters

Chapter Eight

February 19, 1913

            Rose came slowly up the icy walk, deftly avoiding slick spots. Two weeks after Gregory had been born, she had begun working at Mrs. Allen's restaurant as a part-time waitress, bringing the baby with her. It had taken only a few days for her to see that bringing her son to work with her was not a good idea. He cried often, wanting to fed, or changed, or just held, and it made it difficult for Rose to work. At home, she had been able to take things at her own pace, and if the house wasn't quite as sparkling as it had once been, it didn't really matter. At the restaurant, she had to serve people when they wanted, and couldn't take as much time to care for the baby as he demanded.

            Rose had considered giving up her job, even though she wanted to save the money so that they could leave Chippewa Falls in the spring. Things had improved a little, but far too many people still shunned her, and she worried about how this would affect her child. Leaving seemed to be the only option.

            Louise had finally offered a solution. She had visited Rose frequently after Gregory was born, and adored the infant. She had offered to care for the baby while Rose was away working, thus giving Rose a break from the constant demands of the child, and satisfying her own maternal instincts.

            Although Louise seldom mentioned her own baby, Rose sensed that she missed the child, and that she often wondered how she was doing, what her life was like. Caring for Gregory seemed to help, and Louise had waved off Rose's attempts to pay her for her assistance.

            Rose reached the front door and went inside, taking off her coat and tossing it over a chair. Louise came out of the bedroom, Gregory snoozing peacefully on her shoulder. She was humming softly, rocking the infant.

            Rose took Gregory from Louise. He whimpered softly, then fell asleep again, one tiny hand clutching Rose's collar.

            "How did he do today?" Rose asked, sinking into a chair. Gregory had suffered from colic a few times in the past couple of weeks. She suspected that he didn't like the milk that he was fed when she wasn't home.

            "Very well, actually. He didn't have any colic, and he slept most of the day. When he was awake, he ate well and stared at everything interesting, especially the buttons on my dress." She gestured to the shiny green buttons on the bodice of her dress. Gregory, like many babies, had a fascination with bright, shiny things.

            Gregory wiggled in Rose's arms, waking up. Rose rocked him gently as his hands let go of her collar, waving around. She turned him to look at her, and was rewarded by a bright, toothless smile. Louise watched them.

            "He was smiling a bit this morning, too," she commented. Gregory caught sight of Louise and grinned for her, too.

            "He started smiling last night. I wonder if babies usually smile this early, or if this one is different," Rose wondered, jiggling Gregory up and down. His hand found a loose curl of his mother's hair, and he gripped it, tugging slightly. Rose disentangled his fist from her hair and set him in her lap, supporting him with one arm.

            "Who did he smile for?" Louise asked, smiling at the infant.

            "The sunset," Rose replied wryly, moving one leg up and down in a jiggling motion. Gregory put his thumb in his mouth and stared at Louise.

            "Maybe he'll be an artist, like his daddy."

            "Maybe," Rose agreed, putting Gregory back on her shoulder. "Later, he gave me a big smile, and then spit up on me."

            Louise burst out laughing. Rose joined her, a little ruefully.

            "I always wear an apron when I burp him," she told Louise.

            Louise nodded. "Me, too. Babies seem to spit up a lot. I've taken him down to my house a few times, and my mother can never resist telling me stories about when I was a baby. Apparently I was much the same way."

            "Mother never talked to me much about my infancy. I don't know why." Possibly, she thought, it was because of the baby her mother had lost; perhaps she didn't want the reminder.

            They broke off as they heard Jack's footsteps on the front porch. He was whistling jauntily as he opened the door.

            Gregory saw him and broke into another smile, turning his head to look at his father. Jack walked over and joined the group, taking Gregory from Rose and bouncing him up and down. The baby waved his arms in delight.

            After a moment, Jack handed Gregory back to Rose and pulled something from his pocket. "I stopped by the post office on my way home," he told her. "You've got a letter."

            "A letter?" Rose took it, wondering who it could be from. She felt a slight twinge of nervousness as she saw the name on the envelope—Ruth Hockley. Her mother, it seemed, had found another way to solve her financial problems.

            Louise noticed Rose's expression and got up. "I'd best be going. I'll see you tomorrow," she told them, pulling on her coat and heading for the door.

            "Thanks, Louise," Rose mumbled absently, holding the letter out of reach of Gregory's hands. Jack took him from her as Louise slipped out the door.

            Rose stared at the envelope for a moment, half-afraid to open it. Slowly, she unsealed it, and removed the sheet of paper.

            "What does it say?" Jack asked her, cuddling the baby. Gregory wrapped his hands around one of Jack's fingers and attempted to put it in his mouth.

            "Let me read it." Rose looked over the letter. It was only one page, written in her mother's elegant script, but the news intrigued her.

_Dear Rose,_

_            I am writing to congratulate you on your marriage to Mr. Dawson. I hope you are very happy. As you can see from the address, I too have married. Nathan Hockley is a kind husband and a good provider, and I am content._

_            I am sorry that I took so long to write, but it took me some time to accept your marriage. You might be interested to know that Cal was the one who decided against marrying you, and persuaded me to marry his father._

_            Now that I have accepted your marriage, I hope that you and Jack will accept my invitation to visit with us in March. Nathan has invested in an art gallery, and we thought that perhaps Jack would be interested in helping to run it._

_            Enclosed with this letter, in case you haven't noticed them yet, are two second class train tickets for March 13, 1913. In addition, the twenty dollar bill included with them is my birthday gift to you. I don't know what you need, living where you are, so I sent you some money so that you can select your own gift. Happy birthday, Rose. You will be eighteen on February 19._

_            I hope you will accept our invitation, and join us in Philadelphia in March._

_Love,_

_Mother_

            Rose read the letter over twice, to be sure her eyes weren't deceiving her, before turning to Jack.

            "Mother congratulates us on our marriage, and she has announced that she has married Nathan Hockley, Cal's father."

            "I guess she found the wealth she wanted, after all."

            "And she didn't have to marry off me to get it." Rose paused. "She wants us to come and visit in March." Rose looked inside the envelope again, pulling out the train tickets and the twenty dollar bill. "She even sent train tickets. We are supposed to leave March 13. They have even offered you a job."

            "A job?"

            "Mr. Hockley has invested in an art gallery. They want you to help run it." She looked up at Jack. "This could be the opportunity we need, to get out of this town. Most people in Philadelphia don't know us, and we could make a fresh start."

            Jack pondered the idea. "What about Cal?"

            "According to Mother, he was the one who rejected the idea of marrying me, and encouraged her to marry his father. I couldn't marry him now, anyway. I'm married to you."

            Jack shook his head. "I don't know. After all the trouble he gave us, I'm not too eager to be in the same city as him."

            "Philadelphia is a big city, and we probably wouldn't even have to see him if we didn't want to."

            "You want to go, don't you?"

            Rose thought for a moment. "Yes. I do. But we can go someplace else if you don't want to go to Philadelphia."

            Jack sighed. "All right. We'll go. If we don't like it, we can always go elsewhere."

            "That's true. And who knows, Cal may have given up on bothering us. After all, he no longer wants to marry me."

            "I hope you're right."

*****

            Jack took Rose and baby Gregory out to dinner that night, in honor of Rose's birthday. Gregory was amazingly well-behaved, sleeping quietly in the carrier Rose had devised from a large basket. He didn't raise a fuss until dessert, when he began to wail, reminding them that he, too, wanted to be fed.

            Rose disappeared into the powder room for a short time, to feed him, and when she returned, a small cake had been placed on the table, with a few candles on it.

            Rose grinned and blew the candles out, managing to get them all out with one breath. Jack teased her.

            "Now I guess you'll get what you wish for."

            Rose smiled. She hoped so, for what she had wished for was a new, safe beginning in Philadelphia, away from the condemning eyes of the people of Chippewa Falls. A new beginning in which Cal did not interfere.

            About forty-five minutes later, they began the walk home. Rose was quiet, pensive. Finally, Jack asked her what was wrong.

            "I was thinking...about Philadelphia," she told him. "If you really don't want to go there..."

            "I'm willing to try it, if you are. I think you're right; it's time to leave this town. Philadelphia seems to be our best option right now—that is, if you really want to go there."

            Rose was quiet for a moment. "I do. If only for a visit. In spite of everything, I'd like to see Mother again, and perhaps my old friends, if they will even speak to me. And, whatever happens, it would still be a new place, a new start."

            "I think we do need a new place to live, if only for Gregory's sake."

            "What changed your mind?"

            He shrugged. "I've heard people talking...about you, about Gregory. A lot of those comments weren't nice."

            "Have they been talking about you, too?"

            "A little. But it's different for me...they'd eventually forgive and forget. Many young men commit their share of...indiscretions....and people eventually forget about it. It's almost expected. Women, on the other hand, are expected to be pure and exemplary, and it's quite scandalous that you're...not. Even if we are married. I don't want Gregory to be exposed to that kind of thinking. Whatever sins we've committed, he had nothing to do with it, but people still act like he did."

            "I knew they would."

            He nodded. "You were right. I guess I just didn't want to think about that. Not everyone is like that, and I was kind of hoping that the others would come around, but I don't think that's going to happen. And I did agree that we would try to find a new place to live in the spring."

            Rose moved closer to him. "Thank you, Jack. This means a lot to me." Moving Gregory's carrier to one arm, she put her other arm around Jack, snuggling close as they walked through the night.

*****

            The next morning, Rose wrote a letter to her mother.

_Dear Mother,_

_            Jack and I have decided to accept your invitation to visit in March. Jack has also decided to accept your offer of a job helping to run the art gallery. We look forward to seeing you. However, there is one thing you should know._

_            We are bringing a third person with us—our son, Gregory Peter Dawson. He was born late in January. You are a grandmother now._

_            Gregory is a handsome baby, with straight red hair, blue eyes, and your nose. I hope that you will love and accept him as a member of your family—he is, after all, your first grandchild._

_            We should be arriving on March 17, so we will see you then._

_Love,_

_Rose_


	9. On The Train

Chapter Nine

March 13, 1913

            Jack and Rose sat together on the train, watching the still-wintry landscape pass by outside. Gregory slept soundly, his head on Rose's shoulder. They had left Chippewa Falls early that morning.

            The past week had been spent in preparation for their departure. Both Jack and Rose had quit their jobs, and had informed the landlord that they were leaving. They had packed up their belongings, and shipped them to the train station for transportation to Philadelphia. Harold Calvert had helped them ship their belongings, much to Rose's dismay. He had been courting Louise, and Rose wondered if Louise knew how Harold looked at her.

            Rose hadn't particularly liked Chippewa Falls, but she did have a few friends. The day before they were to leave, she walked around town, Gregory in his carrier, saying good-bye to the handful of people who had befriended her—the owner of the dry goods store, the couple who owned the house they had rented, Mrs. Allen, and Louise. Jack had made his farewells in a local bar, returning home slightly tipsy.

            Rose had said good-bye quickly to the dry goods store owner, and to the owners of the house, but she spent more time saying her farewells to Mrs. Allen and Louise.

            Mrs. Allen had put someone else in charge for a while why she talked to Rose and served coffee and pie. She had cuddled little Gregory, making Rose promise to write and tell her how the child was doing. Gregory had rewarded her with one of his delighted smiles.

            Rose had spent the afternoon with Louise. It was odd, she thought, how she had become such good friends with someone she had once disliked and been jealous of. Louise had held Gregory for hours, and had at last reluctantly given him back to Rose. Rose hoped that Louise would marry soon and have another baby of her own. It would be good for her.

            That morning, Jack and Rose had bundled up Gregory in his basket, and walked down to the train station. After buying an extra ticket for the baby, they had boarded the train. Rose knew that Jack would miss Chippewa Falls, and his old friends, but it was best that they left, for Gregory's sake. Few people knew them in Philadelphia, and none knew their exact history.

            Rose had looked back once as the train pulled out of the station, and then had looked resolutely forward, toward whatever the future would bring.

            Rose looked up as Gregory lifted his head, wiggling his arms and legs and making soft baby sounds. He caught a glimpse of the landscape moving by outside and stared for a moment in rapt fascination, grinning toothlessly. Then, he lost interest and whimpered, indicating that he wanted to be fed.

            Rose pulled a blanket from the diaper bag and covered herself with it, unbuttoning her blouse to feed the hungry infant. He stopped whimpering as his needs were met.

            "Looking forward to going home?" Jack asked her, watching her feed the baby.

            Rose shrugged. "I guess." She wrapped her arms more securely around Gregory as he wiggled, almost knocking off the blanket. At almost two months old, he was growing fast, and was a healthy, active infant.

            "Worried about seeing your mother again?"

            She nodded. "A little. I haven't seen her since I went back to rescue you after Cal framed you. I hope she really is willing to accept our marriage, and accept Gregory."

            "She said that she had accepted your marriage, in the letter."

            "I know. I just...I haven't seen her in so long, and she's remarried now. I wouldn't doubt that we've both changed."

            "For the better, maybe. I know you have."

            "Maybe." She paused. "I hope she was telling the truth when she said that Cal had decided to call off our marriage. It would be much easier to deal with him if he isn't interested in me."

            "Whether he is or he isn't, he can't drag you to the altar and force you to marry him. You can't legally have two husbands at once."

            Rose smiled. "True." She looked down at Gregory, who had finished nursing and was looking up at her in curiosity. Rebuttoning her blouse, she lifted him to her shoulder, and, putting an old towel over her garment, burped him.

            Once Gregory's diaper had been changed, and he was settled in Jack's lap, not really sleepy yet, they continued their conversation.

            Jack bounced Gregory up and down on his knee. "Are you going to tell your mother when we were actually married?"

            Rose shook her head. "I've thought about that, but no. Mother may have accepted our marriage, but I can just imagine her reaction if she knew that I was almost seven months pregnant on my wedding day."

            "Are you sorry we waited so long?"

            Rose looked at him. "Not really. Our wedding was as close to perfect as can be. Still, it would be easier to explain if we had married sooner, like right after we left the Carpathia."

            He nodded, laying the now drowsy baby across his lap. "I'd feel uncomfortable lying about something like that, though."

            "Who says we have to lie? Maybe no one will ask exactly when we were married. If they don't, then we just won't tell them. And if they do, we can always say that we have been together since the Carpathia, which, technically, is true, even if we weren't married yet."

            "And what about Gregory's birthday?"

            "I told Mother he was born late in January. If she believes we were married late in April, then anyone doing the math would find the birth to be right on schedule."

            "But, if she accepts him, she may want to know his exact birthday. Sometimes grandmothers like to dote on their grandchildren, especially around birthdays."

            "He was born January 18. If we were married the day the Carpathia docked, or just after, and he was conceived on our wedding night, that would make him just a few days early. Some babies are born a little early, and after two months, who can tell?"

            "I don't know..."

            "Jack, we can still celebrate our anniversary on the date we were married. But I don't think that telling Mother is a good idea. She can be very judgmental about things like that. Trust me on this. I've known her for eighteen years. You've only known her for three days, and she didn't behave very nicely toward you those days." She paused. "We can tell her, but only if she shows signs that she has changed enough to accept such things."

            "Seems to me that your mother would understand not having enough money to marry."

            Rose laughed, disturbing the sleeping infant in Jack's lap. Gregory whimpered, and Jack picked him up and put him on his shoulder, stroking his back. After a moment, the infant quieted, falling asleep on his father's shoulder.

            "She just might, but still...I don't want her to know, especially not about the Renault."

            "How do you know she doesn't? When we came back to your stateroom to tell them that the ship had struck an iceberg, your mother looked at me as though she was convinced that I had despoiled her beautiful, innocent daughter."

            Rose laughed again, more softly this time. "You did. But I was more than willing to be despoiled, as I recall."

            "Yes. 'To the stars,' you said."

            Rose stuck her tongue out at him. "You didn't object."

            He laughed softly at her expression. "No, I didn't." He glanced at the sleeping infant, the unexpected product of that night. "All right. We won't tell your mother, or anyone else, until we can be sure that they won't be judgmental."

            Rose hugged him. "Thank you, Jack. I just hope that everything works out."

            "Me too, Rose. Me, too."


	10. Welcome to Philadelphia

Chapter Ten

March 17, 1913

            The train pulled to a stop at the station in Philadelphia. Rose peered out the window, trying to locate her mother in the crowd. Ruth had promised that she would be there to greet them, but Rose didn't see her yet.

            They waited for a few minutes before leaving the train, allowing the crowd to clear out first. Rose carried Gregory and his belongings, while Jack carried their luggage and arranged to have their other belongings placed where they could ship them to the Hockley mansion, where they would be staying until they could find a place of their own.

            Rose finally spotted Nathan and Ruth Hockley sitting on a bench in a corner of the train station. Holding the baby securely, she made her way over to them. Jack followed, more hesitantly.

            "Mother!" Rose called above the noise of the crowded train station. "Mother!"

            Ruth finally saw her. "Rose!"

            They hurried toward each other, then stopped, uncertain of how to greet each other. Jack came to stand beside Rose.

            Ruth turned to her husband. "Nathan, you know Rose, of course. This is her husband, Jack Dawson. And," she peered down to look into Gregory's carrier, "this must be their son, Gregory."

            Nathan nodded politely, acknowledging them. "Mr. Dawson. Mrs. Dawson." He looked at Rose a bit oddly, wondering why she had rejected his handsome, wealthy son for this shaggy-haired artist. Then he shrugged. There was no logic to love, and, if all truths were told, he felt that Cal was better off without Rose, loathe as his son had initially been to admit it.

            They walked in silence to the car. Nathan hired a wagon to bring the Dawson's belongings back to the house, and the five people squeezed into the Hockley's car, Nathan and Ruth in the front, and Jack, Rose, and Gregory squeezed into the back.

            The journey back to the Hockley's home was quiet, although Ruth kept turning around and looking at the baby in Rose's lap. Gregory stared back at her, wide-eyed with curiosity.

            When they reached the mansion, Nathan ordered a couple of servants to place the Dawson's belongings in a upstairs suite. Rose disappeared for a few minutes to care for Gregory, and then joined her husband, mother, and step-father in the parlor.

            "So, this is your son?" Ruth asked, looking at the now-drowsy baby in his carrier.

            Rose nodded. "Yes. Gregory Peter Dawson. He's almost two months old."

            "May I hold him?"

            Rose nodded, surprised, and took the sleeping infant from his basket and handed him to Ruth. Gregory whimpered, annoyed at being awakened and a little fearful of the strange arms holding him, but Ruth held him securely, and he soon dozed off again. Apparently Ruth hadn't forgotten how to hold a baby.

            Nathan, too, was looking curiously at his step-grandson. The baby slept soundly, his thumb in his mouth. Jack finally spoke to Ruth.

            "He has your nose."

            Ruth nodded, looking closer at the baby. "You're right. He does. But that chin...that's from Rose's father."

            "I always thought it was from her. So strong and stubborn..."

            Ruth shook her head. "Rose inherited her father's chin, but this boy is going to look just like him, except for having red hair, of course. My first husband had brown hair." She looked at Rose. "You shouldn't let him suck his thumb. It will push his teeth into odd positions."

            Rose shrugged. "He doesn't have any teeth yet."

            "He will soon. Just wait. It's a pity that the powerful ingredients in the patent medicines have been removed. They certainly quieted you when you were teething, Rose."

            "Those things weren't safe."

            "They never hurt you."

            "I was luckier than some babies, then."

            Jack interrupted before they could start arguing. "How have things been for you, Ruth, since the Titanic sank? This is the first time we've seen you."

            "Well enough. It didn't take me long to realize that Rose was still alive. I didn't see her name on the survivor list, but then I looked for your name, and sure enough, there was a Rose Dawson there, too. I asked if a Rose Dawson had been on the ship when it set sail, but no knew who she was supposed to be. So I knew that my daughter was still alive." She turned to Rose. "Cal and I tracked you to Chippewa Falls, but when we saw you with Jack—really, you need to learn to lock your doors at night—Cal decided against bringing you back."

            "You—you knew all along?" Rose sputtered in disbelief. "Why didn't you let us know you knew?"

            Ruth was silent for a moment. "Rose...you know that I didn't particularly like him." She gestured to Jack. "It took me a long time to accept your marriage. You are married, aren't you?"

            "Yes." Rose stared at her mother. "Why wouldn't we be?"

            "You were born to privilege, and, well...he wasn't. And I'm aware that you didn't go about your courtship in the usual way—"

            "How could we, with me already engaged to Cal and the both of you watching me like hawks?"

            "Obviously, we weren't that successful at watching you, or I wouldn't be a grandmother now."

            Rose looked at her strangely, wondering just what her mother was hinting at. Ruth shook her head.

            "Rose, I'm not blind. I saw the way you two looked at each other when you came back to the stateroom. I hadn't been widowed so long that I didn't know what that look meant. That ship brought death to fifteen hundred people, but, if I'm not mistaken, it brought life to at least one." She glanced at her sleeping grandson.

            Both Jack and Rose turned red, glancing at Nathan, who was trying to look as though he wasn't listening. It was bad enough for Ruth to have figured it out, but to have Rose's ex-fiancé's father know what had happened was worse.

            "So, when were you two married, anyway? And what day was Gregory born?"

            Rose sighed. Her mother seemed to have figured everything out, so there wasn't any harm in telling her. "We were married November 13, 1912. Gregory was born January 18, 1913."

            "Why didn't you marry sooner?"

            Jack responded. "We decided to wait until we had a place to live, and I had a job. You, of all people, should understand the need for money." He held Ruth's eyes challengingly.

            Ruth looked a bit guilty, but looked back unflinchingly. "I believe you should have married as soon as you knew a baby was on the way. I'm assuming that you knew before the wedding?"

            "We knew."

            "Well, it doesn't matter now. No one need know."

            Rose glared at her mother. "Mother, we're not sorry for anything that happened. There's nothing to be ashamed of."

            Ruth disagreed with her, but kept quiet. Instead, she told them, "Of course not. But it would be best, for the baby's sake, if people thought you married much sooner, even as early as late last April."

            "Jack and I already discussed that. We would have allowed you to believe that we married then, had you not figured things out."

            "Well...Rose, I am not going to tell anyone anything. I don't think Nathan will either." She glanced at her husband, who nodded in agreement.

            "Part of the reason that Jack and I came here was to get away from narrow-minded people who would condemn Gregory for the circumstances of his birth. We have no intention of letting those circumstances be known."

            "Rose, Jack...I can't say that I'm pleased with your actions. But I won't reject Gregory, and I have decided to accept your marriage. I won't reject the two of you, either. We're glad to have you here."

            There was silence for a moment, until Gregory opened his eyes, stared up at his grandmother, and gave her one of his bright smiles. Ruth smiled back, oddly pleased at the baby's ready acceptance of her, and looked at her daughter and son-in-law.

            "Welcome to Philadelphia," she told them, still beaming.


	11. Laura Hockley

Chapter Eleven

            Jack and Rose saw Cal for the first time since the Titanic sank that night. He arrived at the Hockley's mansion promptly at six o'clock, with a beautiful blonde-haired woman at his side.

            Rose was startled when the maid first escorted Cal and the woman into the parlor, but soon regained her composure. She bounced Gregory up and down in her arms, and moved closer to Jack, eyeing Cal nervously. He appeared not to notice.

            Cal spoke first. "Jack, Rose...may I introduce my wife, Laura."

            His wife? Jack and Rose looked at each other, half-relieved, half-surprised.

            "Pleased to meet you," Laura chirped, holding out one gloved hand. They each shook her hand, still surprised.

            Rose found her voice first. "Pleased to meet you, Laura."

            "Charmed," Laura replied. Her voice was gratingly high-pitched. "You must be Rose. Cal has told me all about you."

            Rose looked at her, wondering just what Cal had said.

            "And you must be Jack," Laura went on. "Cal told me all about how you stole his fiancée. But that's all right, because now he has me, and he likes me better than Rose."

            The maid came in with some tea and coffee. Cal looked relieved as Laura poured herself a cup of tea and set about drinking it, temporarily silent.

            "So, Rose..." Cal turned to her. "How have things been with you since the Titanic sank?"

            "Very well, actually. Jack and I are married now, and, as you can see, we have a son. His name is Gregory Peter Dawson."

            "He's cute!" Laura exclaimed, setting down her cup of tea. "Can I hold him?"

            "Um...all right," Rose told her, lifting the baby and setting him in Laura's arms. She took him, holding him a little awkwardly.

            Gregory whimpered at the strange arms holding him. Laura put him on her shoulder, rocking him. Gregory wailed louder. She thumped him on the back, trying to quiet him.

            As Rose reached to take the baby back, Gregory stopped crying for a moment—just long enough to spit up on Laura's elegant gown. She squealed in disgust, thrusting him back at his mother.

            Rose took Gregory, who promptly stopped crying. Laura looked at her dress in disgust.

            "Ah...Laura, love," Cal said. "Why don't you go up to the powder room and get cleaned up? I'm sure one of the maids will help you."

            "Oh, right. Thank you, darling." She gave Cal a kiss on the forehead and hurried out of the room.

            Cal looked at Jack and Rose, trying to conceal how much his wife embarrassed him. "I apologize. She's very enthusiastic sometimes."

            "She's...ah...she's very...sweet," Rose replied diplomatically, handing Gregory to Jack. "Ah...where did you meet her?"

            "At a polo match last summer. She was very enthusiastic then, too."

            "When were you married?"

            "Last month."

            Rose raised an eyebrow. "I thought that most debutantes wanted June weddings."

            "Well, we...uh..."

            Laura came back into the room, her dress slightly damp, but clean. She sat down next to Cal again.

            "I declare, babies are so disgusting," she said, eyeing Gregory, who stared back at her. She patted her middle. "I hope our baby is better behaved."

            "You're expecting?" Rose asked her.

            "Yes, in October."

            "Congratulations." Rose looked at Cal, smirking. "October, eh? I can see why a June wedding wouldn't work out."

            Cal looked like he wished the floor would swallow him. Laura spoke up.

            "We were married in February. It was a beautiful wedding. I had six bridesmaids, and a ten-foot train on my gown."

            "Congratulations," Rose told them again. "I'm sure you're very happy."

            "Oh, yes," Laura chirped. "We're happy. And Cal is so much better off with me than if he'd married you."

            Cal was saved from having to comment when the maid appeared and announced that dinner was ready. As they headed toward the dining room, Jack leaned down close to Rose.

            "At least we don't need to worry about him chasing you anymore."

            Rose nodded. "That's true, but that wife of his..." She looked toward where Laura was hanging on Cal's arm, chattering away in her high-pitched voice.

            "I think they deserve each other."

            Rose giggled. "I do, too. And their baby...can you imagine a child with those two for parents?"

            "A beautiful child—"

            "—with the voice of a poodle."

            "And an ego to match."

            They laughed, and Rose took Gregory from Jack's arms. A bassinet had been set up in the dining room so that Gregory could accompany them to dinner. Rose laid her now-sleeping son in the bassinet, and sat down, nodding politely to Cal and Laura, giving no hint of the fun she and Jack had had at their expense.

            Dinner went smoothly, with Cal and his father discussing business, and Laura interjecting "cute" comments from time to time. Jack and Rose relaxed and enjoyed the food, ignoring the conversation from the Hockleys.

            As dessert was served, Rose relaxed, realizing that she was no longer worried about Cal coming after her. He had a wife of his own now, even if he often seemed to be embarrassed by her. Coming to Philadelphia had been a good choice, and Rose hoped that Jack would want to stay there, too.


	12. Do You Want To Stay?

Chapter Twelve

            The Hockleys and the Dawsons visited until around ten o'clock that night. After Cal and Laura left, Jack and Rose bade good night to Nathan and Ruth and slowly made their way up the stairs to their room. Gregory was already sleeping soundly in the small nursery adjoining their room.

            As she made her way up the stairs, Rose realized that she felt more at ease with these members of the upper class now that she was no longer one of them. She could visit with them, and speak to them, without having to worry about what they thought, or how her actions would be viewed. She was among them, but she was not of them.

            Jack, for his part, had always managed to be comfortable wherever he was, and he was just at much at ease in the Hockley's parlor as he was in the small town in which he had been born. Contrary to Cal's original thought, he did understand something about business, although he had never really paid much attention to it as long as it didn't immediately concern him. He supposed that it would be a good idea to learn a little more about business, if he was going to be running an art gallery.

            They prepared for bed in silence. Rose slipped into the nursery to check on Gregory, who was still sleeping peacefully where she had left him an hour earlier. She climbed into bed beside Jack, almost surprised at the size of the king-sized bed, much larger than the narrow double bed they had shared in Chippewa Falls.

            Jack pulled the blankets up over them, and they snuggled together, seeking warmth against the chill night air. Rose sighed contentedly, leaning her head against Jack's shoulder.

            "Jack?" she whispered, looking up at him.

            "Hmm?"

            "What do you think of Philadelphia?"

            "It's interesting enough. I'm seeing it from a different viewpoint than I did the last time I was here."

            "You've been here before?"

            "Once. About two years ago. I hitched a ride on a train, without any idea of where it was going. I didn't really care, since I didn't really have any place to be. It stopped in Philadelphia, and I spent about three weeks here before leaving again."

            "Where did you stay?"

            "On the streets. It was summer, though, so it was okay."

            "Do you like this better?"

            He shrugged. "It's more comfortable, I'll say that."

            "But do you like Philadelphia? Do you want to stay here?"

            He leaned back, considering. "You want to stay here, don't you?"

            Rose nodded. "It's good to see Mother again, and the place where I grew up. Few people know us here, and those that do won't talk about us. They don't want our secrets getting out and causing a scandal that might affect them. I also don't think that Cal will bother us any more, since he's now married himself."

            "To the lovely Laura, she of the high-pitched voice and 'cute' personality."

            Rose laughed. "She is something, isn't she? I almost feel sorry for Cal. Still, maybe there's more to her than meets the eye."

            "One would hope, but..." He paused. "Doesn't that make her our stepsister-in-law, since she's married to Cal, who is now your stepbrother?"

            Rose's eyes widened. "I never thought of that. We are related now, aren't we?" She laughed. "Well, now we can be sure that Cal won't bother us. Can you imagine the scandal if he was carrying on with his stepsister?"

            "It almost overcomes the imagination."

            "But you still haven't answered my question."

            "What question?"

            "Do you want to stay here in Philadelphia, or go elsewhere?"

            He looked up at the ceiling, thinking. "I think we can give it a try. Nathan Hockley is going to show me the art gallery tomorrow. If I decide I want the job, we'll stay here. If not..."

            "If not, then we'll just head for the horizon."

            "Gregory in tow."

            "Well," Rose responded, "maybe if you don't want the job, we should still stay here a while, at least until we can afford to move on. Let's give it a few months, at least."

            "All right. We'll stay here, for a while at least."

            Rose smiled and threw her arms around him, snuggling close. Jack responded by kissing her, a kiss that slowly deepened as they wrapped their arms around each other, nestling together. Jack finally broke the kiss.

            "Rose," he whispered. "It's been almost two months since the baby was born. Do you think you're ready to..."

            "I think I'm ready," Rose whispered back, her fingers toying with the buttons on his pajama top. He kissed her again, and reached to turn out the lamp.


	13. Changes

Chapter Thirteen

            The next few years were peaceful ones for the Dawsons. Jack took the job managing the art gallery, showing a great deal of business sense. Since he had plenty of experience as an artist himself, he had compassion for those artists who were struggling to get ahead, and often showcased their work just to bring them additional publicity.

            The Dawsons' second child, Libby Emma Dawson, was born on March 13, 1915. She had a headful of curly red hair, like her mother, and her father's amazingly blue eyes.

            Nathan Hockley died in July of 1915, leaving seventy-five million dollars of his eighty million dollar fortune to his son Caledon, as well as the Hockley steel mills. He also left four million dollars to Ruth, along with several boutiques that he had invested in at her urging. Ruth showed a surprising business acumen for someone who had once refused to work for a living, and soon had turned one of the boutiques into a successful department store.

            Much to the surprise of everyone, Nathan Hockley left one million dollars and the art gallery to his stepdaughter and her husband. Jack had been running the gallery for over two years by then, so it caused little change, and neither he nor Rose were particularly interested in trying to join the ranks of the upper class. They put most of the money away in the bank, using only a small amount to buy a larger house for their growing family.

            The Dawsons avoided Cal's family whenever possible. Despite the changes in both families' lives, there was still a fair amount of tension between them, and they still didn't trust each other. Rose disliked Laura, who had a snobbish streak a mile wide, and Laura equally detested Rose, who she always suspected had designs on her husband, and his fortune.

            Cal and Jack didn't like each other much, either, although they usually hid their animosity behind a facade of civility. They were both businessmen now, although they were in very different businesses, and they maintained this demeanor for the sake of their businesses and families.

            Still, life was good for the most part, and the Dawsons lived contentedly and peacefully in Philadelphia until the United States entered World War I in 1917.


	14. The Draft

Chapter Fourteen

June 19, 1917

            The United States entered World War I on April 6, 1917. Shortly thereafter, a law was passed requiring all men between the ages of twenty-one and thirty to register for the Selective Service, also known as the draft. Jack registered, as was required by law, but neither was happy about it. The Dawsons had paid little more than casual attention to the war until the United States became involved in it, and both Jack and Rose felt strongly that the United States had no business being in the war.

            However, personal opinions meant nothing, and the draft notice arrived for Jack on June 19, 1917. Jack wasn't home when it arrived; he was working at the gallery. The man who delivered it hurried off, trying to avoid Rose's irritated scolding.

            When Jack returned home that afternoon, Rose greeted him with the notice. He read it quickly, then swore out loud.

            "Oh, shit."

            Rose hushed him. "Jack, the children don't need to hear that."

            She looked over at the two youngsters. Gregory was drawing on a piece of newspaper and appeared not to have heard, but Libby, who, at two years old, had a habit of repeating every new word she heard, toddled over, saying, "Sit. Sit. Sit."

            Rose picked her up. "Libby, that's not a nice word. Daddy only said it because he's angry."

            "Sawee." Libby struggled to get down, and Rose let her go, watching her toddle over to pester her brother. He ignored her, moving his art project out of her reach.

            "Jack, what are you going to do?"

            He tossed the notice on the table. "I have to go. I don't have a choice. Maybe I'll be lucky and be stationed somewhere in the United States, though I wouldn't count on it."

            "When do you have to leave?"

            "In a week."

            "A week! Isn't there some kind of provision that can get you out of it, such as your being a family man or something?"

            "I doubt it. If there was, then there wouldn't be nearly so many family men sent to that infernal war. And we don't have any extenuating circumstances, either. No one is sick, we have plenty of money to spare, you can be relied upon to care for the children yourself..."

            "This is absurd! Why should people be forced to go to a war if they don't agree with it?"

            "Because it's the law. What if they couldn't get enough people to support their war efforts?"

            "Then they couldn't have a war. The United States shouldn't be in this war anyway. It's Europe's argument, and Europe's problem. They've been fighting for centuries, anyway. What can America do about it?"

            "It's thought, by some, that after this war is over there won't be any more wars. Supposedly the casualties are horrifying enough that people won't want to fight anymore."

            Rose snorted rudely. "I'll believe it when I see it. Besides, if the casualties are that horrifying, shouldn't the United States want to keep its people out of the war?"

            "There's nothing rational about war—or the people who start them."

            "It's a mass psychotic disorder." Rose had been studying the writings of various psychologists and philosophers again. "What is this war over, anyway?"

            "I'm not sure. I think it has something to do with keeping the markets open."

            "Why don't Americans just do business with the winners?"

            "It wouldn't be democratic. Wilson says we have to keep the world safe for democracy."

            "What democracy? The world is ruled by a few wealthy individuals. It has nothing to do with democracy."

            "Daddy, are you going to be in the war?" Gregory interrupted, looking up from his drawing.

            "I'm afraid so."

            The boy's eyes lit up. "You'll be a hero!"

            "You want to hear a secret, Gregory?"

            "What's that?"

            "I'd rather not go to the war at all. I'd rather stay here with you."

            "But then you wouldn't be a hero. Why don't you want to be a hero, Daddy?"

            "Because a lot of heroes are dead. I'd rather be alive."

            "Don't worry, Daddy. Those stupid Huns couldn't hurt you."

            "Where did you hear about Huns?"

            "At the park. Mommy took Libby and me to the park this morning, and George Heinz's mother said that America was sure to beat the evil, woman and child killing Huns."

            Jack would have laughed at the irony if the situation hadn't been so serious. Heinz was a German name.

            "Gregory, I don't want to hear that word from you again. They're Germans, and they're no better and no worse than any of us. Got it?"

            "Got it." The boy hung his head. "I still think you'll be a hero, though," he mumbled under his breath.

            Jack heard him. "I'll try," he said, sighing. "Just remember, Gregory, you don't have to go to war to be a hero. There's heroes all around you who have never been to a war."

            "Like who?"

            "Like your mother. She'll be holding down the fort while I'm gone. I want you to behave, and watch your sister. All right?"

            "I can do it." Gregory puffed out his chest, proud of the responsibility. "I'll be the man of the house!"

            "I'm sure you'll do a great job, Gregory. Why don't you take Libby down to the playroom so your Mommy can make dinner? It's good practice," he added, when the boy balked at the idea.

            "Okay." Gregory got up reluctantly, taking his little sister's hand. Libby wailed no all the way down the hall, then stopped when presented with her favorite toy.

            Jack sat down at the table. "Dammit, I hate this war. Maybe I should pretend I never got this notice."

            "That wouldn't work." Rose looked a bit sheepish. "I scolded the delivery man for bringing it."

            "Wonderful." Then he laughed. "What was his reaction?"

            "He couldn't wait to get away from me. He took off down the front walk so fast he was almost a blur. I don't think I'm the first wife to scold him."

            "Probably not." Jack sobered. "I'm going to miss you, Rose."

            Rose wiped her hands on her apron and sat down beside him. "I'm going to miss you, too." She sighed. "Maybe it won't be for too long. This war had already been going on for almost four years. How long can it last?"

            "Some wars have lasted hundreds of years."

            Rose grimaced. "Wonderful. Of course, they won't keep you that long. How long is it for, two years?"

            "Something like that."

            "Maybe it will end sooner."

            "I hope so. This is ridiculous. With all the propaganda, and all the support for the war, you would think that they could get enough men to fight without drafting anyone."

            "Like you said, there's nothing rational about war."


	15. Leavetaking

Chapter Fifteen

June 26, 1917

            The week before Jack had to leave came and went all too quickly. Jack arranged for someone else to take his place at the gallery while he gone, and then took the rest of the week off, preferring to spend time with Rose and the children. The children were delighted to have their father around so much, but frightened, too, by the undercurrent of worry and tension.

            Jack and Rose spent as much time together as possible, going places with the children, watching them play; and sometimes just spending time alone together. Neither spoke of it, but they both knew that it might be a long time before the whole family would be together again, if ever. Though it was never said, they both acknowledged that many people who went off to war never came back.

            All too soon, the day came that Jack had to leave. Rose and the children accompanied him to the train station, the young ones looking around in fascination at the noisy, crowded waiting area. Only Gregory had ever been on a train, and he had been too young to remember it. The crowds of people, some getting on the train, some getting off, were fascinating to the two small children.

            They found the spot where the other draftees were waiting for the train, some of them also accompanied by friends and family. As the train approached, Rose threw her arms around Jack, hugging him as though she would never let go.

            Gregory and Libby stared, never having seen their mother cry before, or their father look so close to it. Libby, knowing that something was wrong, but not sure what, began to cry herself, and Rose let go of Jack long enough to pick the child up.

            Rose wiped her eyes, while Libby continued to wail. Gregory stared at all of them, and then wrapped his arms around his father's legs, suddenly afraid that he would disappear. Jack picked him up.

            "You watch out for your Mommy and Libby now, all right, Gregory?" he asked him.

            "I will, Daddy," the boy answered, still frightened but trying to be brave. "When are you coming back?"

            Jack hesitated. "I'm not sure, Gregory. I hope it won't be too long."

            "Don't worry, Daddy. I'm sure you'll be a great hero," the boy told him earnestly.

            "I'll try, Gregory."

            "Bing pwesents," Libby suddenly interrupted, having stopped crying.

            Jack and Rose laughed, their mood suddenly lightened by the little girl's demand. Jack had gone on short trips a few times before, searching out artwork for the gallery, and he had always brought back something for the children. Libby remembered that, and expected the same thing this time.

            "I will, Libby. Whenever I get back."

            The train's whistle blew in warning, and Jack and Rose hugged one last time before Jack quickly hugged the children, telling them good-bye, and picked up the bag containing the few things he would take with him. He waved to them one more time before stepping onto the train, while Rose clung to the children, trying not to cry. She watched as the train pulled out of the station, and continued to stare long after it had disappeared from sight.

            As Rose turned to leave, carrying Libby and holding Gregory's hand, she noticed that she was not the only wife who watched after the train miserably, and she cursed the war, and the draft. How many wives would be widows before it was over? How many children would have no fathers? She looked at the faces around her, some proud, some sad, and some frightened, and finally walked out of the train station, Gregory holding her hand as though she was the one who needed watching over, trying to fulfill his promise to his father.


	16. Letters Home

Chapter Sixteen

            As the days passed, the Dawsons adapted to their new situation. The children were fretful and whiny at first, but, with the resilience of youth, they soon grew used to having only their mother around.

            Rose and the children visited with Ruth more often than in the past. Ruth had opened up considerably over the years, thanks in no small part to the innocent acceptance of Gregory, and later Libby. She was still somewhat uncomfortable in the middle-class home that Jack and Rose had made for themselves, but held her tongue, more concerned now with keeping the peace in the family than with appearances.

            Rose waited anxiously for some word from Jack, and, after a week, a letter arrived assuring them that he had arrived for basic training safe and sound.

_June 28, 1917_

_            Dear Rose,_

_            We arrived here at two o'clock this afternoon, but there wasn't a chance to write until evening. So far, so good. There were no mishaps on the way here, and it is evident that I am not the only one who is reluctant to be here._

_            About half of us are volunteers, and the rest draftees. Some regard this war as a holy mission, others as an adventure, and still others as a duty. Most of the volunteers seem content enough to be here, although some seem to be reconsidering, not that they have much of a choice now. Some of the draftees regard the war in the same way, but there are others who would just as soon not be here. One young man who has been drafted is away from home for the first time, and terrified. Apparently his grandfather, who fought in the Indian wars, has told him a thousand terrifying stories, mostly about death, scalping, and torture. I have my doubts that much scalping goes on over in Europe, but I'm certain that there's plenty of death, and possibly torture as well._

_            We have to be up early, so I had best finish this letter now. I hope that all is well with you, and that I am able to return home soon._

_Love,_

_Jack_

*****

_August 23, 1917_

_            Dear Rose,_

_            We have now completed basic training, and I am on my way to Europe. I would have preferred to be stationed somewhere in the United States, but, like most draftees, I am slated to go to Europe._

_            Supposedly, basic training was supposed to teach us how to be soldiers and get us into shape, but I think that it was more about getting us into the right mindset. We need to support the war, and the American position, and hate the enemy. I think I will make a lousy soldier, because I still haven't learned those things. Maybe I have spent too much time seeing the world, and the people in it, but I just can't find it in myself to hate a group of people just because those in power say I should._

_            I must admit that I am actually more concerned about crossing the ocean than about the war itself, at least right now. There have been so many ships sunk by U-boats, and I don't relish the idea of being on one of them. One sinking was enough to last a lifetime._

_            The train is almost to New York, where we will board a ship to Europe. You will probably receive this letter before we arrive there._

_Love,_

_Jack_

*****

            Rose spent three weeks worrying about Jack, and the crossing, before she received another letter from him. They had arrived safely, and were headed for the trenches.

_September 2, 1917_

_            Dear Rose,_

_            We have arrived safely in Europe, in spite of the U-boats prowling the Atlantic waters. The journey took ten days, much longer than the Titanic intended to take to cross the same ocean, but this ship has yet to have a collision with an iceberg, so I suppose they're doing something right._

_            We disembarked in England, and then crossed the English Channel to France. Much of France has changed from the way I remember it. There is a lot of tension here, because of the war, and a lot of the countryside has been torn up. It will be a long time before this place gets back to normal._

_            Included here are some drawings of France as it is now, and as it used to be. Hopefully they will get past the censors._

_Love,_

_Jack_

*****

            Jack spent over fourteen months in Europe, fighting in the war. He wrote home as often as he could, mostly talking about such things as the weather, the food, and light anecdotes about people that he had met and things that had happened—letters that could get past the censors. In spite of the stressful conditions, he managed to keep his sense of humor, and his health, unlike some of the others. He often sent drawings with his letters, some of which were thinly veiled references to the unpleasant aspects of war.

            However, despite the censors' vigilance, Jack did manage to send one letter home that told far more clearly just how unpleasant things often were.

_July 27, 1918_

_            Dear Rose,_

_            I am writing this letter on the off chance that it will get past the censors. I think they fear that if people at home knew what things are really like here, it would reduce support for the war, as well it should._

_            The trenches are unpleasant places, with few redeeming features, except that they help protect you from bullets, which is a good thing. They're filthy, and often muddy, especially when it rains, which it does quite a bit. It is also often cold, especially in the winter months. In the summer, it's hot, and still unpleasant._

_            There is little privacy here, and it is crowded. In some respects I suppose this is a good thing, since the troops lend each other moral support, but it's still hard to be with so many people day after day, and when things get tense I sometimes think we hate each other more than we hate the enemy._

_            There is an ailment that many soldiers get called trenchfoot. It seems to be caused by having one's feet in the mud so much. If you manage to keep your feet dry you don't have much problem, but that can be difficult, especially when it rains a lot. So far, I have managed to avoid this._

_            Another problem is shell shock. Some soldiers, under the strain of battle, seem to fall apart. They may retreat into themselves, or become very difficult to get along with, and some don't recover afterwards. There are others who seem to keep their heads during battle, but have difficulties later. Sometimes a person will seem to recover, but then something will remind them of whatever it was that started the problem in the first place, and things get bad again. A few have had to be evacuated._

_            I can sympathize with them, because battle is a strain, although so far I have kept my head. There are bullets flying, and the ever present danger of getting shot. There are also bombs flying, leaving craters in the ground when they hit. In hand to hand combat, there is the danger of being bayoneted. There is also the danger of poison gas, although so far the gas masks have worked and have therefore kept the number of casualties down._

_            In addition to the danger to oneself, there is also the worry over the fate of one's comrades. Conditions like these tend to form a bond between us that is not often seen elsewhere, and the knowledge that those around you may be killed or injured without warning adds to the strain._

_            There is also a certain amount of difficulty in fighting with the other side. Even though these men are supposed to be your enemies, they are still people, and it can be hard to forget that. I can't help but wonder if one of the people that I am shooting at is someone that I knew years ago. There isn't any choice, of course, since chances are if you don't kill them they'll kill you, but it isn't something that I like to think about. It's easiest when you can't really see who you are fighting with, because then you don't know if your bullets actually found their marks, and you can't see the faces of your enemy and acknowledge their humanity._

_            I will be surprised if you receive this letter; however, it helps just to write these things down. I hope that this war will be over soon._

_Love,_

_Jack_

*****

            Several more months passed. The Dawsons kept in touch through letters, and even the children managed to send messages to their father, by dictating them to Rose, who wrote them down. Libby wasn't entirely certain who she was sending messages to, but since her brother was "writing" to someone, she had to as well. She didn't quite remember who her father was, but her brother assured her that he was the one they were writing letters to.

            Jack responded to the letters, including messages and drawings for the children. Rose was relieved each time a letter arrived, and continued to pray that the war would end soon.

            Toward the end of October, the letters stopped coming. Rose spent several weeks living in fear that something had happened, but there was no word. Finally, a letter arrived in mid-November, just after the end of the war.

_November 11, 1918_

_            Dear Rose,_

_            I'm sure that you've heard by now that the war is over. It was doubtless in every newspaper around the country the day it ended. I apologize for not writing to you these past couple of weeks, but there has been little time, and the one letter I did manage to write was returned to me._

_            Peace has finally been declared, and they are calling this day Armistice Day. They will be sending us home soon. I look forward to seeing you and the children. It's hard to believe that it's been almost a year and a half since I've seen you._

_Love,_

_Jack_

*****

            Rose was ecstatic, hardly able to believe that Jack was at last coming home. She waited with growing anticipation for the next several weeks, until at last the telegram came announcing his arrival.

ROSE. WILL BE HOME DECEMBER 5. MEET ME AT THE TRAIN STATION. BRING GREGORY AND LIBBY. LOOKING FORWARD TO SEEING YOU. JACK.


	17. Home Again

Chapter Seventeen

December 5, 1918

            Rose steered the car through the Philadelphia traffic, heading for the train station. Her heart beat with anticipation as she drove. Jack was coming home! After being gone for nearly a year and a half, he was finally coming home!

            Rose glanced into the back seat. Gregory and Libby were sitting on opposite sides of the car, where she had put them to keep them from bickering. The usual complaint was that one was looking out the other's window, but today they were behaving well.

            Rose turned her attention back to her driving. She had insisted that they dress nicely for this occasion, despite Gregory's complaints that he hated getting dressed up. But they hadn't seen Jack in a long time, and she wanted them to look nice for him.

            Rose drove around the block near the train station, looking for a place to park the car. She wondered what Jack would think of the fact that she'd bought a car and learned to drive it. They still usually walked to local places, but Rose had found the car very convenient for going any place more than a few blocks away, especially with small children who walked rather slowly.

            Rose parked the car and climbed out, helping the two children down to the street. Taking their hands, she headed for the waiting area, her anticipation now tinged with a bit of nervousness.

            What would things be like, now that Jack was coming home? Had he changed? Had she? She knew that the children had grown a great deal, but that was to be expected. Gregory had been four years old when Jack had left, and now he was nearly six. Libby had been two years old, and was now three and a half. Rose wondered if Libby remembered her father at all.

            She scanned the people milling around, seeing no sign that the train with the returning soldiers had arrived yet, and sat down to wait.

            What would Jack think of her now? She had taken care of herself and the children the past year and a half, with occasional assistance from her mother. She had taken care of everything that needed doing, and had even learned to drive. She was more independent now than she had ever been before, but she would be glad to have Jack home again. She had missed him.

            Would Jack have changed at all? she wondered. He had seen and done things that she could hardly imagine, and war had a way of changing people. She knew that some men who had come home early from the war had changed a great deal from when they had left, sometimes for the better, sometimes not. Others seemed to have not been greatly affected by the experience.

            Another train pulled in. Rose stood up, straining to see which one it was. Gregory climbed up on the bench beside her, trying to see.

            "Is that Daddy's train?" he asked her, as several soldiers stepped out of the train.

            "I don't know," Rose told him, still straining to see.

            Gregory stood on tiptoe, trying to see over the shoulders of people. His eyes caught someone emerging from one of the last cars on the train.

            "It is! I see him!" he shouted, jumping off the bench and darting into the crowd before Rose could stop him.

            "Gregory! Wait!" Rose called, hoisting Libby onto her hip and running after him. She stopped only long enough to pick up the hat that her son had tossed aside before following the bobbing red head into the crowd.

            Gregory rushed through the crowd, heading for the place where he had seen his father step out of the train. He ran around the milling people, avoiding the press of soldiers and families come to greet them. He could hear his mother shouting after him, but he ran on, determined to find his father first.

            He finally found him. Jack was trying to see through the crowd, looking for Rose and his children, when Gregory ran up to him.

            "Daddy!" the boy shouted, launching himself at his father with such enthusiasm that Jack stumbled backward, knocked off balance by his son's exuberant hug.

            He picked Gregory up. "Gregory! You've grown! Nobody told me you'd gotten so big."

            Gregory nodded happily. "Mom says that if I keep growing like this, I'm gonna be as tall as you." He grinned. "I'm already halfway there."

            "That you are." Jack turned as he heard Rose's voice. She was moving as quickly as she could through the crowd, Libby balanced on her hip.

            "Ran away from your Mom, did you?" Jack asked Gregory.

            Gregory looked a little sheepish. "I had to go find you."

            "And you did. Let's go catch up with her before she thinks you've disappeared." He set the boy down.

            Gregory grabbed his hand and hurried toward his mother. "Mom! Mom! Look, Daddy's home! I found him!"

            "Gregory—" It took Rose a moment to comprehend his words. She looked up at the man at his side. "Jack! You're home! You're really home!" She set Libby down, running into his arms. "I've missed you so much—"

            Her words were cut off as Jack kissed her, not caring who was watching. Rose kissed him back, throwing her arms around his neck. They had been apart for so long.

            Libby clung to her mother's skirt, staring at the vaguely familiar man who was kissing her mother. She put her thumb in her mouth. Gregory had said that this was their daddy, but she wasn't so sure.

            Gregory stared, too, at his parents kissing. "Yuck! They're kissing," he told Libby. "Grown-ups can be icky."

            Jack and Rose broke apart at the last comment. "Are you ready to go?" Rose asked him, picking up Libby again. The little girl's eyes were wide.

            "I'm ready." Jack picked up his bag, the same one he had taken with him when he left, much the worse for wear now. Gregory took his other hand, and the set off in the direction of the street.

            "You're looking good," Jack told Rose. "You all are."

            And it was true. Rose was wearing a deep blue dress, similar in color to the one she had worn when they had "flown" on Titanic. It was topped with a warm white coat, and she was wearing a blue and white hat that complemented the outfit perfectly. Libby was wearing a green dress with shiny white shoes, and Gregory, now slightly rumpled from his run through the crowd, was decked out in a pair of short brown pants and a brown jacket, as well as the hat he had almost lost in the train station.

            Jack looked around for a taxi, but Rose stopped him. "This way," she said, leading him around the corner and toward the car.

            Jack was surprised when they walked up to the car—Rose hadn't told him about that in her letters. He was even more surprised when, after she had put the children in the back seat, she climbed into the driver's seat. Of course, he thought after a moment, who else would be driving? But when had she learned how?

            Rose smiled at Jack's surprised expression. He climbed into the passenger seat, looking around the inside of the car. It wasn't the newest or the fanciest model—she had bought it a year earlier—but she had bought it new, and kept it in good condition. It had taken two months of practice before she was comfortable driving it on the streets, but now she was as skilled as any other driver; more skilled than some.

            Rose started the car, moving it carefully into the street. Jack finally got over his surprise. "You bought a car?"

            She nodded. "Yes. It was more convenient than walking everywhere, especially with the children." She gestured to the dashboard. "It even starts from the inside, so I don't have to crank it."

            Jack looked it over. "That's handy."

            She smiled. "It is. When I was a child, we had a couple of cars, and they were the kind that had to be cranked. There were two people who drove them—my father and a chauffeur. Father would get so mad at those cranks. He said words a couple of times that made Mother cover my ears, but I still heard."

            Jack laughed. "You're lucky the technology has improved."

            "I am." She stopped, thinking of something. "Jack, do you know how to drive?"

            He shook his head. "No. Not cars, anyway."

            "I'll have to teach you." She tossed her head.

            "Is that a challenge, Mrs. Dawson?"

            "That depends. Do you think you can learn?"

            "As well as you can."

            "Then I can teach you."

*****

            Rose and Gregory were delighted to have Jack home. Even Libby warmed to him a little bit when he brought out the gifts he had brought from Europe.

            For Libby, he had brought back a beautifully dressed doll, made of a relatively new material, plastic, that the child couldn't break easily. Libby took the toy and settled into a child-sized chair near the fireplace while Jack brought out the things he had selected for the others.

            For Gregory, he had brought a leather portfolio not unlike the one he had lost when the Titanic sank. He had stocked it with art supplies before returning home, and Gregory, who had taken as much interest in art as his father, was delighted.

            For Rose, he had brought back a green velvet dress that he had purchased in Paris just after the war had ended, thinking of how the green would bring out her red hair. Rose tried it on, modeling it for him and the children. Libby looked at her admiringly and told her how beautiful she looked, then stood beside her in her own green dress and declared that they matched.

            Later, as Rose was fixing dinner and Gregory was searching his room for artwork to show his father, Jack approached Libby. She was once again sitting in her little chair near the fire, playing with her doll. Jack sat down near her.

            Libby looked up at him, still not quite sure what to make of him. He was vaguely familiar, and he had given her this nice doll, but she still wasn't sure she trusted him.

            "Do you remember me, Libby?"

            Libby put her thumb in her mouth, still holding the doll in her other hand. Finally, she took her thumb out of her mouth.

            "Greggy says you're our daddy."

            Jack nodded. "I am your daddy."

            "Are you sure? Greggy says lotsa stupid things."

            "Yes, Libby, I'm sure. Your brother's right about that."

            "Okay." She set the doll down, still looking at him warily. "Mommy has pictures of you."

            Jack remembered all of the pictures that had been taken over the years. "I'm sure she does. She has pictures of all of us."

            "Uh-huh." Libby put her thumb back in her mouth.

            "Libby, let me show you something."

            "What?"

            Jack took the little girl's hand and helped her out of her chair. "A picture." He led her upstairs to the bedroom he and Rose shared. On the wall was a photograph of the entire family, taken about two years earlier.

            "Has your mommy shown you this picture?"

            Libby screwed up her face, trying to remember. "I dunno."

            "Well, this is all of us. Me, your mother, Gregory, and you," he told her, pointing to each person. "We're all a family."

            "That's me?" Libby looked at the tiny girl in Jack's arms, looking curiously at the camera. "I was cute!"

            He laughed. "Yes, you were, Libby. You still are."

            She looked at him, a bit indignantly. "I'm almost grown up. I'm three and a half!"

            Jack heard Rose calling through the house, announcing that dinner was ready. "Come on, Libby. Your mommy's cooked a good dinner."

            "Give me a piggyback ride?"

            "You remember that, do you?"

            "Uh huh." Libby nodded enthusiastically.

            Jack picked her up, putting her on his shoulders. Libby giggled with delight.

            "I'm taller than you!" she shouted at her brother as he came out of his room. She reached up. "I can almost touch the roof!"

            "The ceiling," her brother corrected her. "The roof's outside."

            "You don't know everything."

            "Yes, I do!"

            Jack laughed, so happy to be home at last that the children's bickering didn't bother him.

            "Come on, you two. Let's go see what your mother has made for dinner."

*****

            All evening, the children vied for their father's attention. Gregory showed off his artwork, and begged his father to tell him stories about the war. Jack told him a few, those that he thought were appropriate for the ears of a child. Libby crawled into his lap with a book her mother had bought her, asking him to read it to her. Jack put both children in his lap and read the book to them, while Rose snuggled against him, her arms around his shoulders.

            Libby finally fell asleep in her father's lap, and Jack carried her upstairs and put her to bed. After tucking her in, he went to tell Gregory good night, and then went to his own room, looking forward to being alone with Rose for a while.

            Rose was in the bathroom, getting ready for bed, when he came in, so he changed his clothes and slipped into bed to wait for her.

            Rose stood in front of the bathroom mirror, examining her appearance. It had been so long since they were together. Would he still find her attractive?

            She smoothed her nightgown. It was really too cold for the thin, low-cut satin, but she thought she looked better in it than in one of her warm, encompassing flannel nightgowns. Looking at herself in the mirror again, she pinched her cheeks to add a little color, then applied a tiny bit of lipstick. She hoped Jack would appreciate her efforts.

            Rose stepped from the bathroom, shivering. It really was too cold for this particular nightgown. Jack looked up from the book he had been reading and set it aside.

            "You look nice," he told her.

            "Thank you."

            "You also look cold." He pulled back the covers. "Come on. Lay down."

            Gratefully, Rose slipped into the warm bed, still shivering. Jack pulled her into his arms.

            Rose put her arms around him, pulling the quilt up farther. She wasn't cold now.

            "I've missed you, Rose," he told her, kissing her softly on the mouth.

            "I've missed you, too," she replied, putting her head on his shoulder. "It's been a year and a half..."

            "Almost. I've thought about you every day."

            "So have I. When those weeks went by without a letter from you, I was so worried. I didn't know what had happened."

            "I know. I'm sorry, but for some reason our mail wasn't getting through. I didn't mean to worry you."

            "I know you didn't." She sighed softly, snuggling against him. "What was it like over there?"

            He lay back, considering. "Unpleasant, for the most part. It was hot in summer and cold in winter, and eternally muddy. There was disease and death, and the constant fear that you'd be next. It wasn't like it was when I was roaming Europe, before I met you. At least, not most of the time."

            "Most of the time?"

            "There were times, once in a while, after the rain stopped and it had gotten quiet, when I could look up and see the stars, and it was almost like there wasn't a war at all, as though everything was right with the world."

            "I wish I could have been there with you."

            "You were, in a way. I thought about you every day; you and the children. I could almost imagine you there, in the times when it was calm." He sighed. "War is terrible thing, something that I hope I'll never see again. I hope that they're right, the ones who are saying that this would be the last war. I hope that our children will never have to live through a war."

            Rose hugged him. "It's over now, and you're back, safe and sound." She paused. "When you visited Paris, did you meet anyone you knew?"

            "You mean, my former art subjects?"

            Rose nodded.

            "No. I didn't see anyone I knew. Things were very different from when I was there in 1911 and 1912. Many of the places I had been familiar with were gone, and I didn't stay long, anyway. There wasn't much time, with all the fighting going on, and when I stopped there on the way home I was too eager to get home to pay much attention to what was there." He pulled her tighter. "Maybe someday, after they've rebuilt everything, we can go back there, and you can show me the places that you visited, if they still exist."

            "I'd like that."

            They kissed, and she knew that nothing had changed. She felt his hands working their way down, searching for the hem of her nightgown, and moved to help him. He switched off his lamp, and her nightgown landed on the floor.

*****

            Jack and Rose's third child, Nancy Ruth Dawson, was born September 7, 1919.


	18. Neighbors

Chapter Eighteen

June, 1920

            "Mom! Hey, Mom!" Seven-year-old Gregory ran into the back yard garden, where Rose was tending a tangle of vines and flowers.

            "What is it, Gregory?" Rose asked, raking some dead leaves out of the way.

            "We have some new neighbors. I was riding my bike and I saw them. They look like rich folks, so maybe they'll only be around for the summer. They're right next door."

            Rose looked toward the fence separating the two properties. She had been wondering when someone was going to move there. The Dawsons had moved into their house, just outside of Philadelphia, the previous autumn, shortly after little Nancy was born. They had decided that they wanted their children to grow up outside the city, and the countryside just outside of Philadelphia offered the perfect mixture of open space and easy access to all the city had to offer.

            A family had been living in the house next door when the Dawsons had moved there, but they had left a few months later, after the house was sold to cover back taxes. It had been empty ever since.

            Rose brushed the dirt off her hands, picked up a fussing Nancy, and called to Libby, who was playing on a swing tied to a sturdy oak tree. With Gregory leading the way, she walked through the yard and started next door, curious as to who the new neighbors were.

            "Did you speak to them?" she asked Gregory.

            "No. I went home. They look like they've got a kid my age, but she's a girl," he said with seven-year-old disdain.

            "Someday, Gregory, you'll learn to like girls."

            Gregory gave her a look of disbelief, as though he couldn't believe that he would ever find anyone as annoying as his two sisters likable.

            The new neighbors were still in the process of moving in. Several large trucks with the family's belongings were parked outside the house, showing that Gregory had been right—these were rich people.

            Two cars were also parked in front of the house. There were several people coming to live in the house, at least for the summer. Many wealthy people bought houses in the country and stayed there only for the summers.

            The movers were rushing around, carrying furniture, crates, and trunks. Rose was reminded of the day Titanic had set sail, with all the items being moved. One truck was piled high with crates and trunks, not unlike the one that had carried the Hockley party's belongings when they had sailed.

            Rose stepped around the movers, and was about to ring the doorbell when the front door flew open and a shouting couple walked out, not noticing her.

            She stared in surprise at the Hockleys. Laura Hockley was shouting at Cal in her high-pitched voice, berating him over something—Rose couldn't quite figure out what. She stopped when she saw Rose.

            "Oh, so is this why you wanted to live here? To be near her?" Laura's voice was grating.

            Cal looked at Rose for the first time. "I didn't know the Dawsons lived around here. If I had, I wouldn't have bought this house."

            "Nice to see you, too, Cal," Rose told him, rocking Nancy gently. The infant was squalling at the noise. "We live next door."

            "You knew!" Laura screeched. "You only insisted we move out here so you could be near her. It's very convenient that your ex-fiancée lives next door."

            "I didn't ask who the neighbors were!"

            "Of course not. You already knew!"

            "Mother?" A little voice came from inside the house.

            "Not now, Emily," Laura told her, turning back to her husband. They continued arguing, while the movers tried to avoid the scene and the child inside the house waited quietly for this latest argument to calm down. Her parents had been at each other's throats as long as she could remember.

            Rose stepped around the embattled couple and looked through the screen. A little girl with blonde hair was watching everything with wide, dark eyes. Rose remembered her vaguely. Emily Hockley, the eldest child of Cal and Laura. She hadn't seen much of the Hockleys since her stepfather had died five years earlier, and Emily had been very young then.

            "Emily, come away from there." A tall, gray-haired woman called to the girl from inside the house, walking toward the door, a dark-haired boy in tow. Rose had never seen him before, but she knew that this must be Nathan Hockley, Jr., the younger of the Hockleys' two children.

            "There's someone at the door, Nanny."

            The woman came to the door, peering out with squinted eyes. After a moment, she dug a pair of glasses from an apron pocket and put them on, seeing Rose and her children more clearly.

            "I'm Rose Dawson," Rose greeted her. "This is Gregory, Libby, and Nancy. We live next door."

            "Hello," Libby greeted them, stepping up to the door. "I'm five. How old are you?"

            "I'm six," Emily told her.

            "Wow. You're grown up."

            Emily smiled proudly, displaying two missing teeth. "This is my little brother, Nathan. He's three."

            "I don't like brothers. They're annoying."

            "I am not!" Nathan protested.

            "Me neither," added Gregory.

            "Yes, you are!"

            "Enough already!" Rose and the nanny said, almost in unison.

            "Mom, can Emily come over to play?" Libby asked.

            "If it's all right with her parents." Rose looked doubtfully at the elder Hockleys, who had finally stopped shouting at each other.

            Laura had heard the end of the conversation. "No, Emily, you may not. I don't want you anywhere near these people."

            "Shut up, Laura." Cal looked as though he wished his wife would disappear, or at least lose her voice.

            "I don't want my daughter near those people. I won't have her associating with your paramour. Besides that, they aren't our kind. They're new money. I don't even know why we're living next door to them—" Her strident voice went on. Cal tuned her out.

            "Of course you can, Emily," he told his daughter. He turned to Rose uncomfortably. "Please excuse my wife. She's rather upset at the moment..."

            "So I gathered," Rose replied, taking Libby's hand. "Do you want to come over, Emily?"

            "Sure," the girl replied, opening the door and slipping outside. She avoided her mother, who had stopped shouting at Cal and was now trying to direct the movers. "Thank you, Mrs. Dawson."

            Libby let go of Rose's hand and grabbed Emily's. "Come on! I'll show you my doll house."

            Rose hurried after the two girls, glancing back at Cal, who was once again arguing with his wife. The peaceful neighborhood no longer seemed so pleasant.


	19. As Time Goes By

Chapter Nineteen

            To say that Jack was surprised to have the Hockleys for neighbors was an understatement. When he arrived home that afternoon and found Libby and Emily taking turns on the swing in the backyard, he was stunned to find that their old adversaries were now their neighbors, and concerned about what kind of influence the Hockley children would have on the Dawson children. He and Rose had taken pains to teach the children that there were more important things in life than how much money a person had, or what their status in society was.

            After Emily had gone home, Jack and Rose argued for a long time over the wisdom of inviting one of the Hockley children into their home. Jack wasn't so sure that it was a good idea; he had never trusted the adult Hockleys, and saw no reason to trust their children, either. Rose, on the other hand, had watched Libby and Emily playing that afternoon, and didn't think that Emily was much like her parents. From what she had observed, Emily had her mother's beauty and her father's intelligence, but lacked the arrogance and snobbery of the adults.

            At last, Jack reluctantly agreed that Emily and Libby could continue to play together, as Emily was the first child close in age to Libby to move into the neighborhood.

            Fortunately, Rose's instincts proved right. Emily and Libby soon became best friends, despite the differences in their social status. Emily had been ignored so much by her mother that she hadn't really picked up on the snobbery that she displayed, and, in her youth and innocence, couldn't understand why her mother so disliked the Dawsons, especially Mrs. Dawson. She once asked her mother what a paramour was, but Laura just slapped her and told her not to say such a foul word.

            Cal, surprisingly, was far more accepting of the situation than his wife. The Hockleys had not really gotten along in years, and he had little compunction about upsetting her. Marriage and fatherhood had made him much more mature than the arrogant, jealous man he had been on Titanic, and he and the Dawsons formed an uneasy truce of sorts. The children were aware of the fact that there was tension between their families, but they ignored it, choosing to form their own childish society outside that of their parents.

            Emily and Libby ran constantly back and forth between each other's houses. Laura resented this bitterly, but refused to get involved, allowing the nanny to be responsible for the children, and largely ignoring them unless they got in her way. Cal observed them at times, but was at a loss as to what to do with rambunctious children, and only spoke to them occasionally, or sent them away to some other place if their games got too wild.

            Much to Jack and Rose's amusement, Emily developed something of a crush on Gregory, and followed him around, asking questions and trying to get him to play with her and Libby. Gregory tried to act as though he didn't notice her—he still thought that girls were beneath his notice—but sometimes she would win him over. He refused to participate in tea parties—unless there was cake, cookies, or other sweets—and playing with dolls was out of the question. However, he couldn't stand to see his sister and her friend beat him at anything, and the three children often competed to see who could climb the tallest tree, ride their bicycles the fastest down the street, or swim the farthest. Few things annoyed him more than having one of the girls outdo him at something—not only were they girls, but they were younger than him, too.

            Another surprising development was that young Nathan Hockley—the spitting image of his father, right down to his expression when angry—had an interest in art. Jack never would have believed that someone who bore such a resemblance to Cal would have an interest in art—not after what Rose had told him about Cal—but Nathan always had a question about art for him, after his big sister had told him that Libby's father was an artist and owned an art gallery. Despite Nathan's young age, he was curious about the paintings that hung in his parents' house, and sometimes tried to paint his own. Though he had little actual knowledge about it—in the Hockley family, all a painting had to be was expensive, and they would buy it—he found it fascinating, and, much to the dismay of his father, talked Jack into giving him lessons.

            Jack was glad to have another protégé—the only one of his children who had shown any real aptitude for art was Gregory—and he enjoyed sharing his skills and knowledge and passing them on to another generation.

            So it was that the two families managed to form a tie that relieved much of the earlier animosity, and stood them in good stead through the years.


	20. You What?

Chapter Twenty

April 18, 1933

            "You what!?" Jack and Rose Dawson stared at their son incredulously.

            "I proposed to Emily," Gregory repeated calmly, "and she has accepted."

            "Gregory..." Jack got up from his place at the table and paced around the dining room. "I don't think this is such a good idea."

            "Why not?"

            "You're both too young, for one thing."

            "I'm twenty years old, and Emily will be twenty in October. Many people our age are married. You and Mom were married when you were twenty and seventeen."

            "That was different."

            "How so?"

            "It just was," Rose told him, trying to conceal her shock. She had long accepted the friendships between her children and the Hockley children, and had even come to view Emily as something of a daughter, especially since Emily's mother had left four years earlier, but to have one of her children marry a Hockley—after she herself had struggled so hard to escape from them—was more than she could tolerate.

            "Look, I know we're young, but we're ready for marriage. I'm sure of it. We've known each other for thirteen years. I work hard. You know that. I can support her."

            "Gregory..." Rose sighed, trying not to show her true feelings about the matter. "I just don't think it would work."

            "Why? Because she's a Hockley? That's what this is all about, isn't it? It isn't about our ages, or my ability to support her. It's because you two can't stand her father. Mom, I know that you didn't want to marry him, but Emily is not her father, and I'm not you. Whatever quarrels you two have with the Hockleys are none of our concern. You've always liked Emily, and you know that she's nothing like her parents, so why are you raising such a fuss now?"

            "Have you really thought about this? Are you sure this is what you want? There's a whole world out there, and you've only seen a small part of it. How can you be sure that you're making the right decision?" Jack tried to reason with his son.

            "How did you know you were making the right decision?" Gregory retorted. "Emily is different from anyone I've ever met. She's smart, she's beautiful, she stands up for what she believes in...whether you believe it or not, I love Emily, and she loves me." He stalked from the room.

            "Where are you going?" Rose called after him.

            "To see Emily. Where else?" The front door slammed behind him.

            Rose put her head in her hands. "I never thought I'd see the day when one of our children would want to marry a Hockley."

            Jack sat down beside her. "The Hockleys lost their money years ago. What if they've decided that this is the way to rekindle their fortunes? We've been lucky enough to not lose much of what we have."

            "Somehow I just can't imagine Emily as a fortune hunter."

            "Not Emily, no. But I can imagine her father using her for financial gain."

            "I don't know." Rose looked at him doubtfully. "Cal seems to have changed since he lost all his money in the stock market crash. Remember what Nathan said, about how he found his father with a pistol in his mouth, ready to pull the trigger, and how he changed his mind when the children begged him not to? He seems to have lived for those children these past four years. If he wanted Emily to marry a man with money, why didn't he marry her off years ago to one of the wealthy young men in this city? The Hockley name is still respected, despite their change of fortune, and he could undoubtedly have found Emily a wealthy husband—probably one with more money than we have. Gregory's inheritance won't exactly make him a millionaire—not with five siblings to share it with—and he's not likely to receive an inheritance for years yet. We're both still fairly young, and in good health. Cal will probably die before we do, so arranging a marriage between Emily and Gregory wouldn't benefit him at all."

            "I wouldn't put it past him to find a way to make it benefit him." Jack was less willing to forgive Cal than Rose was. He had never forgotten how Cal had framed him and left him to die in the sinking ship, or how he had fired shots at himself and Rose after Rose had jumped out of the boat to be with him. They had maintained an uneasy truce through the years, but Jack still didn't trust him. Neither, for that matter, did Rose, but she was more willing to forgive and forget. The thought of having Emily for a daughter-in-law made her uncomfortable, but she realized that Emily was not her father, and could not be blamed for the problems he had caused them.

            "We can't stop them," she told Jack, putting a hand on his arm. "They're both adults, and we can't force Gregory to bend to our will."

            "We could never force Gregory to bend to our will. He's too much like you."

            "And you. He's independent, stubborn, and strong-willed, just like we are."

            "Sometimes it would be nice if he were a little less strong-willed." Jack sighed, thinking. "But he's right. We aren't objecting because we don't like Emily, we're objecting because we don't like her parents. Even though Laura left four years ago, I don't think you've ever forgotten what hell she tried to make of your life, accusing you of trying to steal her husband and turn her children against her."

            "I don't think Laura was playing with a full deck. She didn't need anyone but herself to turn her children against her, and as to her accusations about me and Cal—it was almost funny, the way she would suddenly turn very sweet and polite each time we had a new baby, coming over and looking at the newborn. I think she just wanted to make sure that the baby didn't resemble Cal. She always got this triumphant look on her face when she realized that the baby resembled you, and I wouldn't be surprised if she taunted Cal about that fact."

            Jack smiled and shook his head, remembering. The Dawsons had had three more children during the 1920's—Adam, born in 1923; Heidi, born in 1925; and Andrew, born in 1929. Adam and Heidi had both inherited Jack's blonde hair, as had Nancy, while the other three children were redheads, like Rose. For the most part, the Dawsons were proud of their children, although Rose had once commented to her mother that she would have liked to give away two of them—but it was a different two every hour.

            "It isn't Emily's fault that her parents are the way they are, and her mother left years ago. Objecting to this marriage won't stop it—it will only push them away." Rose spoke quietly, looking at her hands. "I suppose we should have seen this coming—Emily has been chasing Gregory since she was six years old, and they've been acting like a courting couple since they were fifteen. I don't think it would have lasted so long if there wasn't something between them. Maybe we've just been blinded to the idea because Emily is a Hockley."

            Jack looked at her. "I think you're right. Emily isn't responsible for what her parents have done, and—I suppose that Gregory could do worse. Emily's a sweet girl, and she's intelligent."

            "She inherited the better qualities of both her parents—her mother's beauty and her father's intelligence. At least—" Rose smiled, a hint of mischief in her eyes, "—she doesn't sound like a poodle."

            Jack laughed, remembering the time that they had speculated on what Cal and Laura's child would be like. "I think we need to try to look past Emily's family, and look at her for who she is. If she wasn't a Hockley, I wouldn't have any objection to having her for a daughter-in-law."

            "I think we have two choices—we can accept this marriage, and give them our blessing, or we can refuse to accept it, and drive them away." Rose took a deep breath. "I think that we should try to accept it. I don't want to drive either of them away. Gregory is our son, and Emily has become like a daughter to me."

            "I'll try to accept it," Jack told her, sighing. "I like Emily well enough—and I suppose that I can accept her for a daughter-in-law."

            "Technically, we're already related to the Hockleys anyway," Rose pointed out, "because my mother married Nathan Hockley all those years ago. We would be become in-laws to the Hockleys—but we're already step-relatives, so it isn't too much of a change."

            "You're right, it isn't."

            "So...shall we give them our blessing, and help them get started in their new life?"

            He nodded. "We'll give them our blessing."

*****

            Gregory brought Emily to dinner with him that evening. The two of them, as well as Libby, spent a long time sitting in the parlor, listening to the radio and talking. Rose overheard the word "wedding" several times, and surmised that they had already told Libby. She wondered if Cal knew about the wedding plans yet, or if Emily had told her younger brother, or if Gregory had told his other siblings.

            The answer came at dinner, when Gregory stood up and made his announcement.

            "Emily and I have an announcement to make," he told everyone, pulling Emily to her feet beside him. She blushed slightly and smiled.

            Libby grinned widely, already privy to what they were going to say. Gregory locked eyes with his parents for a moment, hoping that they would not challenge him in front of everyone.

            "What is it?" Nancy asked, eyeing her grinning older sister, and her older brother, who seemed to be having a hard time finding the words.

            "Emily and I are engaged."

            "You are?" Nancy squealed excitedly. "Wow! Neat! Can I be a bridesmaid?"

            "Me, too," Heidi added. Adam and Andrew just stared at everyone, Adam wondering why his sisters made such a big fuss about a wedding, Andrew not quite sure what was going on.

            Gregory looked at his parents, half-expecting them to blow up at him. Instead, Jack spoke quietly and sincerely.

            "Congratulations, you two."

            "Thank you, Mr. Dawson," Emily told him. "Gregory was worried that you wouldn't accept it. My father certainly doesn't like the idea, but he's trying to accept it."

            That cleared up one question in the minds of Jack and Rose—Cal wasn't behind Gregory and Emily's decision to marry. It truly had been the choice of the two young people.

            "Have you set a date yet?" Rose asked.

            Emily shook her head. "No. I was hoping...if you and Mr. Dawson accepted the idea of Gregory and me getting married...that you would help me plan the wedding. Libby is already helping," she added.

            Rose smiled. "I would be honored to help," she told Emily. "We can even help pay for the wedding," she added, glancing at Jack.

            He nodded, a bit hesitantly. He knew that the Hockleys didn't have much money these days, and Gregory, while he worked hard, was struggling to make a name for himself in the art world, and didn't have much money, either. Gregory worked at the art gallery with his father when he wasn't practicing his art, but money was tight there, as it was all over, and Jack didn't pay him much. It was enough to live on, but not much more.

            "Oh, no. We couldn't accept that," Emily told them.

            Jack put up a hand to silence her. "We insist."

            Rose smiled at him, proud of the way he had accepted their son's decision. It hadn't been easy, she knew, and she had had difficulty accepting it herself, but they had both come through. They would be proud to have Emily for a daughter-in-law.

            "Do you think that two months is long enough to plan a wedding?" Emily asked. "I was thinking that June might be nice—June twenty-first, the longest day of the year. What do you think?" she asked Gregory.

            "If you can plan a wedding by then, I think that would be a good date." Impulsively, he kissed Emily on the cheek, making her blush and his siblings giggle.

            Adam sang under his breath. "Gregory and Emily sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G..."

            "Be quiet," Nancy hissed, poking him in the arm. "It's rude to sing at the table."

            Everyone laughed, breaking the spell. "I think two months is long enough," Rose told Emily, "especially with three people to plan the wedding."

*****

            After Gregory had walked Emily home, he saw his father standing in the yard, smoking a cigarette and gazing at the stars. He came to stand beside him.

            "Dad?"

            "Hmm?"

            "Thank you for not making a scene at dinner. I know you and Mom don't like the idea of my marrying Emily—"

            "We talked it over, Gregory, and we realized that our real objection was to Emily's father, not to Emily herself. She isn't responsible for the animosity between us and her father. After thinking about it, I realized that I would be proud to have Emily for a daughter-in-law, if only she wasn't a Hockley. But she has no control over who she's related to, or over what they do. As your mother pointed out to me, we're already related to the Hockleys, because your grandmother married Emily's grandfather. When I congratulated you at dinner, I meant it."

            "Why do you and Mom dislike Mr. Hockley so much?"

            "It's a long story, going back to when we were young and your mother was engaged to him."

            "He really doesn't seem like that bad of a person."

            "I suppose he has his good qualities," Jack conceded, "but they can be hard to recognize."

            "He's been a much nicer person since Mrs. Hockley left."

            "Maybe, but I still don't know. We never liked each other. The first time we met, he tried to have me arrested for attacking your mother."

            "He thought you attacked Mom? Why?"

            "She almost fell overboard on the Titanic, and when I pulled her back, we landed in a...compromising position. He immediately jumped to conclusions, as did the seamen who found us. Your mother defended me, and he let me go...but he didn't like me even then. I think he knew I was a threat to his relationship with her."

            "And he was right, since Mom married you."

            "She wasn't very fond of him, either, although I think she's grown more tolerant as the years have gone by." He paused, taking another drag off of his cigarette. "Gregory...you don't _have to marry Emily, do you?"_

            "Have to? No. Nothing like that. We just...we love each other, and we want to get married. We've been going together for five years, and...it's time. We want to make things permanent."

            Jack nodded. "Being married isn't always easy—your mother and I have had our share of disagreements over the years—and it takes a lot of work to make things right, but if you're with the right person, it's worth it. I hope Emily is that person."

            "Thanks, Dad. I think she is." Gregory turned to go up the steps.

            "Good luck, son."


	21. A Wedding

Chapter Twenty-One

June 21, 1933

            Rose watched as Emily made her way up the aisle, escorted by Cal. Both the Dawsons and the Hockleys were taking part in the wedding.

            Cal had initially objected just as vehemently as Jack and Rose to the wedding of Gregory and Emily, but had eventually come around. Now, Rose watched as he escorted his daughter to the altar, from her own position as matron of honor.

            Every member of the two families had a part in the wedding. Much to Jack's surprise, Gregory had asked him to be best man, a sign that he held no lingering resentment over Jack's initial objection to his choice of brides. Rose was matron of honor, and Libby, Nancy, and Heidi were bridesmaids. Nathan Hockley and Adam Dawson were ushers, while little Andrew Dawson was ring-bearer. Emily and Gregory had made all of the decisions about who would do what, and no one was left out.

            Rose watched quietly as Cal escorted Emily to the altar and stepped back, signaling that she was in Gregory's care now. She listened as the minister began the words of the ceremony that would make the two husband and wife, remembering her own wedding, now over twenty years past. Had it really been that long? It seemed like only a short time since she had made her way up the aisle, on that chilly November day in 1912, marrying Jack in a small, quiet ceremony with only a few people gathered to watch. Now, their son—the son that she had been carrying when she had married Jack—was getting married himself, with a hundred guests there to watch.

            She gazed at the bride and the groom as they exchanged their vows. Gregory, dressed in a tuxedo, looked very much like Jack had at age twenty, except for the bright red hair. Emily, as petite and blonde as her mother, was dressed in an elegant white satin gown and lace veil. The two of them fairly radiated happiness as they spoke the words that would bind them together. Rose smiled to herself, remembering the joy of her own wedding day, and the many years of joys and sorrows that had passed since then. Life had not always been perfect, but it had never been boring, and she had never regretted a moment of it.

*****

            Hours later, as Jack and Rose watched the newlyweds dance, they were surprised to see Cal approach them. They hardly noticed him at first, to caught up in their own thoughts to pay attention to him, but they looked up when he cleared his throat.

            "Cal." Rose looked at him in surprise. They had maintained an uneasy peace over the years, but had seldom spoken to each other unless absolutely necessary.

            "Jack. Rose." Cal seemed equally uncomfortable. He shuffled his feet, watching Gregory and Emily dance. The couple was oblivious to anyone around them.

            "They're very happy, aren't they?" he commented after a moment.

            "Yes, they are," Jack replied shortly, as though challenging Cal to try to put a stop to the couple's happiness.

            Cal sat down beside them at the table, pausing for a moment as the music ended and the newlyweds came over to see them.

            After talking to them for a moment, Gregory and Emily moved off, walking amongst their guests. Cal looked back at Jack and Rose.

            "Jack, Rose," he began. He stopped for a moment, uncertain of how to proceed. "I realize that we haven't been the best of neighbors over the years..."

            "Our children made the best of things," Rose replied, wondering what Cal was getting at. He wasn't usually this friendly.

            "Yes." He looked at the young couple making their way through the reception hall. "But now...in a way, we're related."

            "We have been related for years, ever since my mother married your father. We've been related through them for a long time," Rose responded.

            "That's true, but...in a way, I think we are more closely related now. Your son and my daughter are married, and it may not be long before we share grandchildren."

            The Dawsons looked at each other, realizing that this was true. Any children that Gregory and Emily had would be Cal's grandchildren, as well as theirs.

            "What's your point?" Jack asked bluntly.

            "We've tolerated each other for years, both as neighbors and as the parents of the children's friends, but I think that, after all this time, and everything that has happened, we need to make amends. I realize that we have never really liked each other, but I think that we need to be friendlier, since, for better or worse, we are relatives now, and will probably share common blood relatives before long."

            "Perhaps you're forgetting the hell that you put us through on the Titanic," Jack told him, recognizing the rationale behind Cal's argument, but still unable to completely forgive him for the past.

            "That was over twenty-one years ago, and I think we've all changed since then. We've all lived a lot since then, and married and raised children. I am not the jealous fiancé that I was on the Titanic, and I have no desire to pursue Rose now. She's yours, and I think I recognized it even then, which was why I fought so hard to put a stop to things."

            Jack considered his words for a moment. It had been a long time, and perhaps he was narrow-minded to still hold so much resentment over things that had happened so long ago, but he couldn't change how he felt on the basis of a few words. Years of resentment would take a long time to mend.

            Rose spoke up. "Cal...I can't promise that we'll ever be friends, but for the sake of our families, I think you're right. It's long since time we mended fences, and put the past away." She looked at Jack, gauging his reaction.

            Jack sighed reluctantly. They were right, and he knew it, but he still had a hard time accepting the idea. Still, for the sake of harmony, he would try.

            He nodded. "It is time we buried the hatchet. For the sake of our children, I think we can try to get along better."

            Cal nodded. He knew that Jack had never forgiven him for leaving him to die on the Titanic, but now that they shared families, it was time to set the past aside. Slowly, he reached out his hand, and the two men shook on it.


	22. Across The Years

Chapter Twenty-Two

            The Dawsons and Cal did become more friendly, but they were still wary of each other. It wasn't easy to bury twenty-one years of enmity and distrust. However, things changed with the arrival of Gregory and Emily's first child, Moira Rose Dawson, on April 15, 1934. There had been no sign of Laura since she had left Cal in 1929, but the three remaining grandparents were charmed by their tiny, red-headed granddaughter, and spoiled her outrageously, as did her one remaining great-grandparent, Ruth. With the arrival of the child, the Hockleys and the Dawsons were at last able to put away the last of their distrust and enmity, coming together because of mutual adoration for their grandchild. Moira's birth also gave them a reason to celebrate April 15, rather than remember the sinking of the Titanic, which had lingered in the minds of all of them.

            Life went smoothly as the years passed, in spite of the Depression. Libby left for college in Wisconsin in August of 1933, to study biology. While there, she met another biology major who was a year ahead of her, Harold Calvert, Jr., the son of Harold Calvert and Louise Baker Calvert, who Jack and Rose had known in Chippewa Falls. The Calverts had since moved to Cedar Rapids, Iowa, and had long since lost contact with the Dawsons, but Harold, Jr. and Libby brought them back together. Harold and Libby were married in August of 1936, just before Libby was to begin her senior year of college. It was the first time that the Calverts and the Dawsons had seen each other since Jack and Rose left Chippewa Falls, and they were glad to see their old friends, and renew their acquaintance. Though they never did see each other much, even after their children married, they still stopped to visit occasionally when visiting the young Calverts, who moved back to Chippewa Falls after Libby graduated from college.

            In 1937, Jack and Rose left their younger children in Nancy's capable hands, and went on a trip to Santa Monica alone. Though they had been there twice before, with their children in tow, it was different going there without them. It had taken them years to get to this point, but they finally did some of the things that they had talked about on Titanic, such as riding horses in the surf. They had never had the opportunity before, because they had always had the children to look after, and they hadn't been there since 1924, when all of their kids were young.

            After they returned from Santa Monica, Rose indulged herself in flying lessons, and, after she knew what she was doing, bought a plane. In 1939, Jack and Rose traveled to Europe, just as they had talked about years before, but they flew instead of traveling by ship. They explored several of their old haunts, in Italy, France, and England, but left after only a short time, as tensions from the burgeoning war made things unsafe. They returned to America refreshed, but worried about this newest war.


	23. For Their Country

Chapter Twenty-Three

June 7, 1944

            The United States entered World War II in December of 1941, following the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor. The two eldest Dawson sons, Gregory and Adam, volunteered for the military, but Gregory was rejected because of a previously undetected heart murmur. The murmur didn't threaten his life, but it did keep him out of the military. Adam, however, was accepted, as was Libby's husband, Harold. Nathan Hockley, Jr., was drafted, but wound up being stationed in the United States, out of harm's way. Andrew Dawson wanted to volunteer, but, at age twelve, was much too young.

            Jack and Rose worried about their son, who was fighting in Europe, as his father had some twenty-five years earlier. He sent them letters regularly, however, so they knew he was alive and well. It didn't stop their worries, but they were relieved that he was staying alive. Harold was in the same area, although in a different group.

            On the afternoon of June 7, 1944, Rose was standing in front of the stove, cooking dinner. Jack was working at the art gallery, and Heidi, home from college for the summer, was somewhere in town with her friends. Andrew was playing baseball with some other neighborhood kids in an open lot a few blocks away.

            Rose sighed, wiping at her brow. The summer heat was getting to her as it never had in the past. It was a warm day, and humid, and that, combined with the heat of the kitchen, was enough to make her feel a bit faint. She considered the idea of walking down to the market for something for dinner, then rejected the idea. She didn't feel like she had the energy for a long walk. If she knew where Heidi was, she could call her and ask her to stop by the market, but she wasn't sure where her daughter had gone.

            Rose put the lid on the pan and walked out of the kitchen for a moment, seeking the slightly cooler environs of the living room. She turned on the radio, hoping the music would soothe her somewhat. Sitting down in one of the chairs, she put her feet up.

            She didn't know why the heat was bothering her so much. There had been hot days before, and she had never found them quite so bothersome, but today she was feeling faint and slightly nauseous. Rose put her head back against the chair, trying to relax. Maybe she was just growing old. She was forty-nine now, after all.

            Rose shook her head. It didn't make sense that her age would be bothering her. Her mother was now seventy-four, and found the summers no worse than she had when Rose was growing up. Rose herself had no trouble with the heat prior to this summer, but this heat wave was making her miserable. Maybe, she thought, she was finally going through the change of life. It was to be expected at her age.

            She got up, returning to the kitchen. Taking the pan off the stove, she dumped the contents into a bowl and set them in the refrigerator to cool. Jack would be home soon, and he would appreciate a cold dinner in this weather.

            Rose had just set the bowl in the refrigerator when someone rang the doorbell. Closing the refrigerator door, she went to see who it was.

            A man in military uniform stood at the door. He looked at her regretfully and handed her a telegram.

            Rose scanned it, her eyes widening in horrified disbelief as she read the words. Adam was dead, killed the day before in Normandy. Her son, not yet twenty-one years old, was gone, taken in battle like so many other good men.

            The room seemed to spin around her, the faintness she had felt earlier returning full force. She gripped the doorjamb for support, her mind whirling. She had to call Jack...call the other children...call her mother...

            "Ma'am? Are you okay?" the young man at her door asked her.

            Rose nodded, trying to reassure him, and crumpled to the floor.

*****

            Rose awoke to find herself lying on the couch, a sobbing Heidi sitting beside her. Rose looked up at her, briefly forgetting what had happened.

            An instant later, when she remembered, the pain came rushing back. Her son was dead. Her little boy, who she had rocked in her arms as an infant, was gone. She had never expected to outlive one of her children, but she had.

            Rose sat up, swinging her legs over the edge of the couch. She had to call Jack, had to tell him what had happened. She started to stand up, but stopped, surprised, as dizziness washed over her again. Heidi pushed her back down.

            "Stay still, Mom. I already called Dad. He's on his way home. I called Gregory and Emily, too. I tried to call Nancy, but she wasn't home. Andrew is still out with his friends."

            Jack arrived home a few minutes later. He looked stunned, as though he couldn't quite believe what his daughter had told him. Rose was sitting up on the couch, sipping at a glass of cool water, her eyes red from crying. He had come across Andrew on his way home, and had brought him back with him. The fifteen-year-old looked to be in shock.

            "Jack." Rose gave the glass back to Heidi and got up, running to Jack and holding on for dear life. "He's gone. Adam's gone."

            Jack held her tight. "I know. I know. I couldn't believe it when Heidi called with the news. He'd been over there for more than two years, and suddenly this happens."

            "I hate this war. Why did it have to happen? Why did we have to lose our son?"

            "I don't know, Rose. I just don't know."

            They were interrupted by the sound of the phone ringing. Heidi ran to answer it, coming back a moment later to get her parents.

            "Mom, Dad, it's Libby. She sounds upset...maybe she's heard."

            Rose went into the kitchen and picked up the phone, followed closely by Jack. "Hello?"

            "Mom?" Libby was crying so hard that Rose could barely make out her words. "I just got a telegram. Harold...Harold was killed yesterday, in France."

            "Oh, my God." Rose reeled in shock. First Adam, now Harold. How many tragedies would they have to face because of this war?

            Jack took the phone from Rose. "Libby? What happened?"

            Libby gave him the same news that she had given her mother, trying to calm down. Then, Jack had to give her the bad news about her younger brother.

            "Libby, I'm afraid we have some bad news. Your brother Adam was also killed in France."

            Rose could hear Libby's shocked cry from where she stood at the counter, looking out the window. Jack handed the phone to her and walked away before he broke down.

            "Libby?" Rose tried to soothe her daughter. "Would you like to come to Philadelphia for a while? I think it might be easier if...if the whole family was together." She started crying again.

            "I'll...I'll be there as soon as I can, Mom. I'll get the next train there."

            "All right, darling. We'll...we'll see you then. Please hurry."

            "I will, Mom."

            They hung up, and Rose rested her forehead against her hand for a moment before making another attempt to call Nancy.


	24. Funeral

Chapter Twenty-Four

June 15, 1944

            The entire family gathered together to mourn the loss of Adam and Harold. Ruth came to stay with her daughter for a few days, to help her through this difficult time, and to seek comfort herself. She had never expected to lose a grandchild. Heidi had been planning upon traveling to New York with a friend for the second half of June, but she canceled her plans when she learned of her brother's death. Gregory and Emily, and their children, Moira, John, and Kay, became almost permanent fixtures in the Dawson household. On June tenth, Libby arrived from Chippewa Falls, bringing her two small children, Virginia and Paul, with her. Rose had managed to contact Nancy on her second attempt, and Nancy took time off from her busy movie-making schedule in Hollywood to return to Philadelphia.

            Adam's funeral was held on June 15, 1944. His body had been shipped back to the United States, but Rose had been unable to bring herself to go to claim it. That task had fallen to Jack, and he had returned home in shock, as though the reality of his son's death had finally hit him.

            All of the members of the Dawson family were at the funeral, as well as Cal, who had in many ways become a part of the family over the past few years, and several of Adam's friends. Rose stood between Jack and Ruth, barely comprehending what was going on around her as she thought back over the years of Adam's life.

            Adam Dawson had born on August 8, 1923, in a hospital in Philadelphia. Rose had insisted that Jack be there with her, much to the dismay of the doctor, who didn't consider it appropriate or necessary for the father to be present at a birth. But, as was often the case, Rose's strong will prevailed, and Jack was present when their second son came into the world.

            For the two years that Adam had been the baby of the family, he had been doted upon by his elder siblings, particularly his sisters, who had considered him their own live doll. Gregory had tried to ignore his little brother, after showing some initial interest in him, because he considered babies to be things that only girls were interested in. However, by the time that Adam was able to crawl, he followed his older brother around everywhere, getting into things and annoying Gregory. Nothing could put Adam off. He adored his older brother, and soon tried to emulate him. Gregory tried to ignore him, but had been secretly pleased at his little brother's worshipful attitude. Adam's first word was "Geg," his baby way of saying "Gregory." It was Gregory who taught Adam how to ride a bike, and later, much to their parents' dismay, introduced him to cigarettes and bootleg liquor.

            Adam had been just a few months shy of six years old when Andrew was born in 1929. Andrew had soon commenced following Adam around, admiring him in much the same way as Adam had admired Gregory, but the two youngest Dawson boys were much closer in age, and Andrew was able to do many of the things that Adam did much sooner.

            Rose had been proud of her son, who had been intelligent, caring, and thoughtful of others. Although she had hated to see him go off to war, she had accepted it, knowing that this time the war actually had a purpose, that they faced a genuine threat, unlike in the first world war, when the "threat" had largely been in the minds of a propaganda-enraged public, and the main purpose of America's involvement had been political.

            At least, Rose thought, they had brought him back in one piece, unlike some, who had been blown apart. It had been a bullet that had taken Adam's life, not a bomb, and when Rose had finally forced herself to look at him, he had almost appeared to be sleeping. Rose had tried to comfort herself with the thought that he had died for something worth fighting for, but the fact remained that he had died in a war, one which the world had hoped would never happen. The War to End All Wars had only been a precursor to an even deadlier conflict.

            Rose leaned against Jack, tears running down her face, as she watched the coffin being lowered into the ground. There wasn't a dry eye anywhere, and Ruth held onto her daughter's arm as though she would never let go.

            At the end of the funeral, when three shots were fired into the air, they seemed to hold a sense of finality, as though now things were truly over.


	25. Surprise

Chapter Twenty-Five

            In the weeks that followed, Rose continued to feel unwell. The upset stomach and faintness she had experienced even before she learned of her son's death continued, with unpleasant mood swings now added to the problem.

            Rose continued to ignore the symptoms, attributing them to the heat, her age, and her grief over the loss of her son. No one else seemed to be affected in quite such a way, but she paid no attention to that.

            One morning early in July, Ruth came to visit, and immediately noticed that Rose was still feeling poorly. Rose had been waving off her mother's concerns since May, and Ruth hadn't pushed her about it. Now, however, with Rose still feeling ill, Ruth was growing concerned. Rose might be forty-nine years old, but she was still Ruth's baby.

            "You're still not feeling well, I take it?" Ruth asked as they sat down for tea. Rose sipped her tea, nibbled on a cookie, and then pushed everything away.

            "I'm fine, Mother. I've just been upset. I'll feel better soon enough."

            "I know that you've been grieving over Adam, Rose, but you've been feeling unwell since before he died."

            Rose shrugged. "It probably has something to do with my age. The heat is bothering me more this summer than it ever did before."

            "I'm twenty-five years older than you, and the heat doesn't give me this kind of trouble."

            "I think it's the change of life. I'm at the age where that happens."

            "Forgive me for being skeptical, dear, but as one who went through that long ago, I don't think that's what's bothering you." Ruth took a sip of her tea. "You're acting more like a pregnant woman than one who is experiencing the change of life."

            "Mother!" Rose had started to pick up her tea, but set it back down again. "I am not—I repeat, not—pregnant. I'm much too old for that. Besides, if I was, I think I would recognize it. I have had six children."

            "You haven't had a baby in fifteen years, and you might have forgotten some things. Besides that, you might not be too old. My friend Elizabeth Phillips had a child when she was fifty-one. These things do happen."

            "Mother, really." Rose blushed. "I've started into the change of life, I'm sure. I haven't...haven't bled since April."

            "And you've been feeling unwell since May."

            "Exactly." Then Rose's eyes widened, as she realized the implications of her words. "Oh, my..."

            "Perhaps, Rose, you should go see a doctor."

*****

            A week later, Rose walked into the office of the family doctor, Dr. Meyer. He had been the doctor for the Dawson family since 1927, and Rose trusted his opinion.

            Dr. Meyer was a tall, brown-haired man in his late forties, and he had treated different members of the family for various illnesses and injuries over the years, as well as delivering Rose's youngest son, Andrew.

            "What seems to be the problem, Mrs. Dawson?"

            "I haven't been feeling well in a while, since around the middle of May, in fact."

            "What's been happening?"

            "I've been feeling faint at times, and also nauseous, especially in the mornings. I've been having some mood swings, too. I thought it was the change of life, but my mother thinks that I might be with child. I think that I'm too old, but..."

            "Well, why don't we try to find out?"

            Rose lay back on the examining table, allowing Dr. Meyer to complete his examination. Finally, he had her sit back up.

            "Well, what is it?" she asked. "Am I going to live?"

            He smiled. "Yes, you're going to live, and you should feel better soon."

            "So..."

            "You're pregnant," he told her.

            Rose wasn't entirely surprised, not after the conversation with her mother, but it still seemed odd to her. She shook her head.

            "I can't be."

            "You are."

            Rose still protested. "I'm forty-nine years old. I'm a grandmother, for crying out loud! I have half-grown grandchildren. Grandmothers don't have babies."

            "Are you unhappy about being pregnant?"

            Rose touched her stomach thoughtfully, then shook her head. "No. I'm just...surprised is all. I thought I was too old for that."

            "Until you've completed the menopause—until your menstrual cycles have stopped for at least a year—there is the possibility that you can still conceive. And you're not the first young grandmother to have a baby, nor, I expect, will you be the last."

            Rose was still somewhat stunned. "A baby...I never expected this."

            "Does your husband have any idea of what's been happening?"

            "Of course, but I don't think he realized..." Rose's face broke into a smile. "This is wonderful. Oh, I just can't believe it. Another baby, after all these years..." She sobered somewhat. "Do you think that there could be problems, with my age and everything?"

            "It's possible, but most women who give birth at your age have normal, healthy children, with few problems. However, I would like you to come in here more often than you did when you had Andrew, just to be on the safe side."

            Rose nodded. "I will. Thank you, Dr. Meyer." She started to climb down from the examining table, then stopped. "When should the baby be born?"

            "Around late January, early February is my best guess."

            "I'll be almost fifty then."

            "That's why I want to keep an eye on you during your pregnancy. You are older than most women who give birth, but chances are you'll have a normal pregnancy and a healthy child. You don't seem to be experiencing any complications so far."

            "No, nothing worse than when I had my other children. When should I make my next appointment?"

            "In about three weeks."

            "Can I bring my husband along?"

            "If you want." Dr. Meyer was more liberal than many doctors when it came to the issue of fathers and childbearing, unlike Dr. Mitchell, who had delivered Gregory thirty-one years before. He hadn't objected when Jack had insisted upon being present for Andrew's birth, and he wouldn't object to Jack's presence at the examinations now.

            Rose broke into an excited skip when she left the doctor's office and headed for her car. She stopped a moment, feeling sheepish, reminding herself that forty-nine-year-old women didn't skip. But forty-nine-year-old women didn't usually have babies, either, and she was happier than she had been in weeks.

            Rose resumed skipping, ignoring the stares of passers-by, and drove home humming happily to herself.

*****

            Rose waited until late in the evening to tell Jack what she had learned. She wanted him to be the first to know.

            Once they were alone in their room, Rose crawled into bed and snuggled close to Jack, brushing a strand of now-silvery hair from his face. At fifty-two, Jack was still strong and fit, and Rose thought he was still the most handsome man she had ever seen. The streaks of silver in his hair and the lines around his eyes only added to his allure, as far as she was concerned.

            Jack pulled her close, giving her a slightly amused look. Rose had been smiling all evening, laughing happily at anything that entertained her, but she had refused to say why. She had just kept giving him secretive looks. Andrew had looked at her as though she were crazy, but, at fifteen, Andrew often found both of his parents embarrassing. Heidi had spent the entire evening on the phone with one of her friends, discussing a young man she had met who had been sent home from the war because of injury, and hadn't noticed her mother's lively mood.

            "Okay, Rose. You've been dancing around all evening. What's gotten you so happy?"

            Rose smiled, reaching for his hand and placing it on her still-flat middle. "I went to the doctor this morning..."

            "And?"

            "And we're going to have another baby."

            "We're going to...what?!"

            "We're going to have a baby."

            "A baby? Are you sure?"

            Rose nodded. "I'm sure. Dr. Meyer confirmed it."

            "How long have you suspected?"

            "Since last week, when Mother said that she thought I was acting like a pregnant woman. I didn't quite believe her, but I guess she was right."

            "A baby...this is quite a surprise. We haven't had a baby in fifteen years. Good Lord, this child is going to be younger than some of our grandchildren."

            "I know. I thought I was too old to have more children, but I guess I was wrong." Rose rested her hands on her stomach. "It almost seems like a miracle, having a baby now. We just lost one of our children, and suddenly we're having another."

            Jack ran a hand over Rose's belly, looking pensive. "Jack?" Rose whispered.

            "What?"

            "Are you sorry...that we're having a baby?"

            He shook his head. "No. I'm just surprised, is all. It is amazing, having another child now. I am a little worried, though. You haven't given birth in fifteen years, and you are older than many women who give birth..."

            "I know, but I'm glad to be having this child. I never thought that it would happen, but now that it has, I'm glad. I think that if it wasn't meant to happen, it wouldn't have."

            "Maybe you're right. Another baby, after all this time...and at our age."

            "Well," Rose told him, smiling, "I'm sure you're not the first older father, and I have been told that it does sometimes happen that women my age give birth. I think that everything will be fine."

            "I hope so." He kissed her, then moved away a bit.

            "What are you doing?"

            "I think I'd best keep my hands to myself. I don't want to do anything to jeopardize your chances of having a healthy baby."

            "I've been with child since May, and our making love hasn't caused any problems before." Rose pulled him back towards her. "It's fine, Jack. It didn't cause problems with our other children, and I don't think it will cause any problems now."

            They moved closer together, their lips meeting in a gentle, loving kiss, their hands moving over each other as their passions rose.

            "After all," Rose whispered, "this is how we got this child."


	26. Birth

Chapter Twenty-Six

            Rose's pregnancy progressed normally. The older children were surprised and thrilled about their new sibling, even Gregory and Libby, who each had several children of their own. The only one who wasn't so happy about the new baby was Andrew, who suspected that his parents had decided to have another baby just to embarrass him. As far as Andrew was concerned, old people like his parents shouldn't be having babies, and to his fifteen-year-old mind, fifty-two and forty-nine were very old. He complained that his friends would make fun of him for having a sibling so much younger, but his parents just laughed, remembering the reactions of Gregory and Libby to Andrew's birth. They too had been embarrassed by the fact that their parents were having another baby. They had eventually gotten over it, after the very embarrassing little brother was born.

            The grandchildren were also happy about the new baby, especially Gregory and Emily's children, because they lived in Philadelphia and would get to see the new baby often. Moira was almost eleven, and begged her grandmother to let her baby-sit once the newborn arrived. Rose wasn't so sure that she wanted to leave an infant in the hands of an eleven-year-old, but agreed to let Moira help. One question that puzzled all of the Dawson's grandchildren was whether the new baby would be their cousin, because it would be younger than them, or an aunt or uncle, which made little sense because they were all older than the baby would be.

            Jack and Rose explained that the baby would be an aunt or uncle, but because they were older, they wouldn't have to address the child as such. Addressing the baby by its first name would suffice. They expected that in a few years they would have some younger grandchildren anyway, as Gregory and Emily were still quite young, as was Libby, and their three other surviving children had not yet married.

            Rose was more tired during this pregnancy than she had been during the previous six, but she and the baby remained healthy. They didn't know whether the baby would be a boy or a girl—there were no reliable techniques to determine that in the 1940's—but they looked forward to the baby, whatever it might be.

*****

            Rose went into labor on the evening of January 31, 1945. She had been feeling brief pains all day, but they grew stronger during dinner, and finally progressed to the point where she was certain that the baby was on its way. Jack left Andrew in charge of the house, telling him where they would be and reminding him that he could call Gregory and Emily if a problem came up, and drove Rose to the hospital.

            Once there, it was confirmed that Rose was indeed in labor, and Dr. Meyer was called. Despite disapproving looks from some of the nurses and other doctors, Jack was allowed to stay with Rose for the birth.

            Jack was at Rose's side the whole time, encouraging her, holding her hand, wiping the sweat from her forehead. Rose was grateful to have him there. It was relatively unusual for a father to be present at a birth, but Jack had been present at the births of all their children, and this last one was no exception.

            Rose's labor continued into the wee hours of the morning, but, despite strong contractions, she made little progress. Her body was refusing to dilate, and the infant's heartbeat grew weak.

            Finally, Dr. Meyer made a decision. "We're going to lose both her and the baby if we don't do something now," he told the nurse and Jack.

            Jack was growing increasingly worried. "What's wrong? Why isn't she making any progress?"

            "She isn't dilating enough to give birth. I'm going to have to perform a Cesarean section."

            "Is this safe?"

            "It's safer than letting her continue as she is. She's getting weak, and so is the baby."

            Rose gritted her teeth as another pain moved through her abdomen. When it was over, she looked up at Jack.

            "Don't leave me," she pleaded with him.

            "I'm staying right here, Rose. Listen, something's gone wrong, and they're going to have to do an operation to get the baby born. Do you think you can handle it?"

            "Yes." Rose clenched her teeth as another contraction ripped through her. "I can do it. For the sake of this baby, I can."

            Dr. Meyer began to prep Rose for the surgery. After she had been given ether and was sleeping soundly, the nurse tried to escort Jack from the room. "Mr. Dawson, we'll need you to wait outside."

            Dr. Meyer stopped her. "Nurse Brooks, he can stay."

            "But, Dr. Meyer..."

            "He wants to be present for this birth." He looked at Jack. "I trust that you'll stand back, and not try to interfere?"

            "I'll just watch," Jack promised him, watching as he bared Rose's distended belly.

            Jack stood back, watching nervously, as Dr. Meyer made the incision. He hated to see Rose in pain, and had to remind himself that the ether kept her from feeling anything. Worried, he watched as Dr. Meyer opened Rose's womb and removed the baby.

            At first, there was no sound. The baby lay limp and unresponsive. Then, when the infant was given a hard smack on the bottom, it whimpered, then began to cry louder, bringing air into its lungs and getting its heart pumping. The baby's skin turned a mottled red as it wailed.

            "It's a boy!" Dr. Meyer announced, handing the newborn to Nurse Brooks. He finished taking care of Rose, and sewed up the incision. Nurse Brooks took care of the baby, cleaning him up and checking him over, and then wrapped him in a blanket and handed the squalling bundle to Jack.

            "Here's your son, Mr. Dawson," she told him.

            Jack looked at the newborn baby, who had finally decided to quiet. He had a headful of blonde hair that stuck out every which way, and blue eyes. His features were rounded, and he bore a distinct resemblance to himself. The boy waved his tiny fists, succeeding in getting one thumb into his mouth. Jack touched the other tiny hand, and the baby wrapped his fingers around his father's thumb, clinging tightly.

            Rose awoke some time later. "Jack?" she asked groggily.

            "I'm right here, Rose. How do you feel?"

            "I...don't feel so good."

            "It's the ether," Nurse Brooks told her. "It often makes you feel sick to your stomach."

            After a short time, Rose felt a little better. "Jack?" she asked again. "How's the baby? Is the baby all right?"

            "The baby's fine, Rose." He held the blanket wrapped bundle out to her, and Rose noticed for the first time that he had been holding the infant. "It's a boy."

            Rose took him, cradling the newborn in her arms, ignoring her sore midsection. "He's beautiful. He looks just like you."

            Jack pulled his glasses from his pocket, examining the baby more closely. "He's perfect, and healthy. Both of you are."

            "I don't think I'm going to have any more babies," Rose told him.

            "I don't think so, either, but I'm glad that we have this one. What do you want to name him?"

            Rose answered without hesitation. "Harry Adam, for our son-in-law and son. Harry Adam Dawson."


	27. War and Peace

Chapter Twenty-Seven

            The years following Harry's birth were good ones. The war ended later that year, and thousands of young men returned home from Europe and the Pacific. By 1947, both Nancy and Heidi were married, Heidi to the young man who had been sent home because of injury, Nancy to an actor who had appeared with her in a movie in 1946. Jack and Rose welcomed five more grandchildren into the world by 1956, one belonging to Gregory and Emily, the others, two each, belonging to Nancy and Heidi.

            Libby chose not to remarry, but instead pursued a career as a scientist, making several important advances in the field of medicine, and in the study of radiation. She left Chippewa Falls late in 1945, moving back to Philadelphia.

            Andrew had been too young for World War II, but he was just the right age for the Korean War, coming through unscathed and quickly rising in prominence in the military. He was very proud of the military industrial complex, so much so that his siblings were often heard to call him insufferable.

            The 1950's were both a time of prosperity and a time of fear, of Communism, of nuclear war, of the threat of the Soviet Union, but the Dawsons weathered the storm, continuing the same level of prosperity and happiness that they had known for so many years before.

            In 1960, Jack and Rose's first great-grandchildren came into the world within a week of each other—Peter Georges, the son of Moira and her husband, Terry, and Elizabeth Calvert, the daughter of Paul Calvert and his wife, Francine. The Calverts lived not far away, in Pittsburgh, and Jack and Rose saw a great deal of this great-granddaughter.

            Life was good to Jack and Rose, in spite of their "insufferable" military son and the trials of being the parents of a teenager so late in life. Tensions rose when the Vietnam war began and Harry showed a great deal of opposition to it, while his brother Andrew supported it whole-heartedly, but they were confident that they could weather this storm as well.


	28. Another Son Goes Off To War

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Summer, 1967

            Rose hurried into the kitchen to answer the insistently ringing phone. "Hello?"

            "Hello, Mom?"

            "Harry! We haven't heard from you in a couple of weeks. What's going on?"

            "I just got a draft notice in the mail."

            Rose put her head in her hands and sank down to the table. Another son going to war. How many time would she have to go through this? One of her grandsons, Lloyd, had already been drafted, and, much to the displeasure of Andrew, had promptly disappeared across the border into Canada. She'd heard from him, but hadn't informed Andrew of that fact.

            "What are you going to do?"

            "You know how I feel about the war, Mom. I was thinking of going to Canada, trying to find Lloyd, but then I thought about how I'm always talking about how people shouldn't be forced to fight in a war they don't believe in, and how hypocritical it would be of me to just run and hide, when there's so many people getting drafted and sent overseas. I'm going to answer the draft notice, even though I don't agree with it, because I think that I need to know more about what we're protesting, and what's really wrong. Not just what we see on TV and in the newspaper, but see for myself what's really happening."

            "Well, Harry, you know that your father and I will support you, whatever choice you make. Just...be careful, okay?"

            "I will, Mom."

            "This will certainly make your brother happy."

            "Who cares what Andrew thinks? I'm not going to support the war, I'm going to learn more about it. Hopefully I'll come out of it alive."

            "I hope so, too. And don't speak so disparagingly of Andrew, Harry. He's your brother."

            "He's a pig."

            "_Harry! That's enough. I know you don't believe in what he stands for, but you'd best keep a civil tongue."_

            "Right. Right. Sorry, Mom."

            "When do you have to leave?"

            "In three weeks."

            "Will you take the time to come out here first?"

            "I'll be there in a week, as soon as I finish my project."

            "All right, Harry. We'll see you then."

            "Bye, Mom."

            "Bye, Harry."

            Rose hung up the phone, and sat at the table, looking blankly at the bowl of fruit in the center. Another son going to war, the third one. There had been so many wars—too many. At seventy-two, she had seen four wars, and had lived through another, though she had been too young to remember it. Five wars, she thought. It seemed like more than a person should live through in a lifetime. There had been only a few years of uneasy peace since 1941, those marred by the ever-present threat of nuclear annihilation. She thought back to the end of World War I, when they had almost believed that it truly was the war to end all wars, a time when they could still believe that technology could solve all their problems, instead of creating a world of fear.

            She sighed. Harry had never known Adam, of course, as Adam had died some eight months before Harry's birth. They had told him about his older brother, of course, and there were still pictures of Adam around the house, but Harry had never had the chance to meet his brother. He knew Gregory, of course, and Andrew, and had been almost as close as a brother to his nephew Lloyd, who was only two years younger than him, the youngest of Gregory and Emily's children.

            Ruth hobbled into the kitchen, supporting herself on her cane. "Who was that, dear?"

            "Harry. He's been drafted."

            "Oh, dear. Is he going to go to Canada?"

            "He says he's going to obey the draft notice."

            Ruth looked at her skeptically. "I'll believe it when I see it. The government's caught themselves a live one this time. Even if he goes, he'll give them a run for their money."

            "He'll go, if only to aggravate Andrew."

            "That boy needs some aggravating." Ruth still thought of Andrew as a boy, though he was thirty-eight. But, at ninety-seven, that was her prerogative. She often complained that everyone else kept growing younger, at least, younger than she was at their age.

            "Now, Mother..."

            "Andrew's too big for his britches, and you know it. One of these days someone will take him down a notch or two, back with the rest of us."

            Rose shook her head. It was true. Andrew had a very high opinion of himself, and of his chosen career. He had risen swiftly in the military, and that had been the cause of numerous arguments between him and his younger brother. Harry was an avowed pacifist, protesting the war from the start, and, after he had graduated from college, he had moved to California, joined the burgeoning hippie movement, and become a very vocal protester against the war. He had even attempted to debate the governor of California at one point, though he had been unsuccessful in that endeavor. He had made his living painting murals, having inherited his father's talent for art. She could only pray that he would come home alive, and in one piece.

            Ruth took a banana from the bowl on the table and peeled it, eyeing her daughter. Up until two months earlier, she had lived independently in the aging mansion she had inherited from Nathan Hockley in 1915. Finally, though, she had decided that the huge house was more space than she wanted, and had sold it to a historical group and moved in with her daughter and son-in-law. At ninety-seven, her mind was still as sharp as ever, but she was growing frail, and no longer wished to live alone.

            Jack and Rose had been considering selling their house and moving to a smaller one, now that all of their children were grown, but they had never quite gotten around to it, and had had plenty of space for Ruth when she decided to join them. Ruth hadn't asked first. She had simply assumed that her daughter would want to support her, and for the most part, Rose didn't mind having her mother around. However, both women were used to running their own households, and this had initially caused some conflict, as Ruth wanted to have a say in matters that Rose had always decided for herself. Jack and Rose had finally arranged it so that Ruth had her own apartment in the house, which she made the decisions on and ran on her own, while Rose ran the rest of the house. That had reduced the conflict a lot, and the three residents got along well.

            Rose stood as she heard the front door open, signaling that Jack was home. Although he had technically been retired for ten years, he hadn't slowed down much. For Jack, retirement was an opportunity to do all the things he hadn't had time for while he was working. He spent hours each week out and about in Philadelphia, sketching whatever he found interesting, and he and Rose had taken the time to travel extensively over the past ten years, making another journey to Europe, this time on a cruise ship, and visiting their children and grandchildren throughout the United States. Two years before, they had taken a trip to Mexico, and the previous year they had acquired a pick-up truck and a tent trailer and had traveled throughout the United States, visiting all the wild places they had only dreamed about in earlier years. They had finished their cross-country journey with another visit to Santa Monica, once again riding horses in the surf, much to the surprise of numerous beach-goers. Their children sometimes worried that their parents were too old for so much travel, but Jack and Rose had waved off their concerns, assuring them that they would know when they got too old, and would stop then.

            Jack set his portfolio on the coffee table—the same well-worn one he had been carrying around since Rose had given it to him for Christmas in 1912—and walked over to Rose, giving her a kiss.

            Rose smiled. Even after almost fifty-five years, they were as much in love as ever, and not afraid to show it. She wondered what her arrogant young grandchildren would think if they knew that their old grandparents still enjoyed the occasional roll in the hay. She wasn't about to tell them.

            She sobered then, thinking of what Harry had told her. Jack noticed immediately. "What's wrong?" he asked, worried.

            "Harry's been drafted."

            "Shit. What's he going to do?"

            "He says he's going to obey the notice."

            "He'll set the army on its ear, no doubt."

            "That's what Mother said. She said he'd give them a run for their money."

            "He did inherit your fire."

            "And your stubbornness. The army may never be the same."

            "Or Vietnam."

            "If he goes there. I've heard that some draftees get posted in the United States."

            "But most go to Vietnam. I just hope he comes back alive."

            "So do I." Rose hugged him, both of them remembering the son who had gone to war and hadn't come back.

            "He'll be here a week from today," Rose told him. "I told him that whatever he chooses, we'll support him."

            "God forgive me, Rose, but I wish he would flee to Canada like Lloyd did. I've seen war, and it isn't a pretty sight."

            "I think he already knows that. He says he wants to learn more about what is really happening, instead of just what he can see on television and in the newspaper."

            "I just hope this doesn't prove to be a fatal lesson."


	29. Family Strife

Chapter Twenty-Nine

            Harry arrived in Philadelphia the following week, after completing the mural he had been working on in San Francisco. Jack and Rose picked him up at the airport, and returned to the house with him.

            Both parents were very worried about their son going off to war. They knew that Harry did not support it, and worried that his views would put him at odds with the people he needed to get along with, and cause him to take foolish risks.

            Harry tried to convince them that everything would be fine. He knew the dangers of war, of course, but like many young people, he didn't fully comprehend that he was not immortal, and could just as easily be injured or killed as anyone else. This same view had partly been the cause of the demise of his brother Adam twenty-three years earlier, but no amount of lecturing could change this way of thinking. It was something he would have to learn for himself.

            Jack understood, better than any other member of the Dawson family, just how harsh war could be. He had never forgotten the year and a half he had spent in the trenches in Europe, fighting in a war he had never understood. He, like many Americans, had objected to the United States' involvement in World War I, and, like many, had been forced into fighting the war anyway. Now, some fifty years later, Jack supported those young men who dodged the draft. He rarely spoke openly of it, knowing how it would shock people, but he was glad that his grandson Lloyd had fled the country rather than take part in a war he didn't believe in.

            They talked a little about the war as they drove home from the airport, Jack occasionally glancing at his son doubtfully. The army would be a major change for him, he thought, looking at Harry's shoulder-length blonde hair and hippie-style clothing. Harry was used to doing as he pleased, going where he pleased, keeping his own hours, and answering to no one. His years at UC Berkeley had only served to make him more radical, and Jack and Rose had often worried about Harry's sometimes off-the-wall, often aggravating activities. He seemed to love thumbing his nose at authority, and distrusted anyone who claimed to know more than him simply because that person held an elected office or was in a position of power.

            Harry spoke enthusiastically of his plans to learn just what was really happening in the war, mentioning that he thought that if enough people learned what was really going on, they might be able to put an end to war forever. Jack and Rose glanced at each other doubtfully when he said this, but held their peace. Harry and the members of his generation would learn, in time, that what they hoped for was a pipe dream, but in the meantime, they just might do some good.

            When they got back to the house, Ruth informed them that Andrew had called from Washington, DC, where he was currently posted, and planned to visit them the next evening. It would be a long drive, but he was very proud of the fact that his younger brother had finally come to his senses about the war.

            Harry looked ready to explode when he heard this, but after mumbling something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like the words that his mother had once washed his mouth out with soap for using, he went upstairs and tossed his bag in his old room before coming back down to join his parents and grandmother.

            Ruth looked at him critically, telling him that he needed a haircut, and then remarking that he looked like an even shabbier version of his father fifty-five years earlier when he had been on the Titanic. Harry just humored her, having grown used to his grandmother's sharp remarks. Ruth had grown more tolerant with time, but she still had a sharp tongue. For his part, he almost appreciated her comments. Ruth was almost the only member of his family that he could shock. His siblings humored him, except for Andrew, and his parents shared many of his views, and allowed him to live as he wanted without interference. They had both made their own lives outside of what society expected, and saw no reason why their son couldn't do the same.

*****

            When Andrew arrived the next evening, the tension between the two brothers was immediately apparent. Andrew was dressed impeccably, wearing one of his uniforms, while his brother had deliberately gone out of his way to look even more disreputable than usual. He had spent the afternoon helping his mother in her flower garden, telling her everything he knew about organic gardening, and had added a good layer of dirt to his already sloppy appearance.

            Andrew gave him a disapproving look, then, smiling condescendingly, congratulated his brother on finally coming to his senses.

            "Good to see you finally took my advice, Harry. You actually showed some sense for once. I would have expected you to run off to Canada like Lloyd did. At least you aren't a coward like him. The army may just make of a man of you."

            Harry looked at his brother coldly, while Jack and Rose watched, hoping that they wouldn't have to break up a fight between the two.

            "I have never been a coward, and Lloyd is no coward, either. It takes more guts to do what is right than to obey the word of someone with a fancy title. You think you're on top of the world, but you can't even see past the end of your nose. People are angry about this war, Andrew! A lot of people hate the war, and a lot of people are working to end it. The only reason I'm obeying that draft notice is so that I can learn about the war from the inside. You think the military rules the world, but one day the people are going to pull you down off your pedestal."

            Andrew stared at his brother from across the table. "That's a bunch of hippie pinko crap. All those people who are against the war will change their minds, once you and your kind have destroyed this great country."

            "We are working to improve it. It's you and your reactionary cronies that have made the world the hell that it is."

            "We're protecting the freedom that you take for granted."

            "Freedom, my ass! What kind of a free country is it where people can be forced to fight in a war they don't believe in?"

            "One that believes in protecting everyone, and bringing that freedom to the rest of the world."

            "Freedom from what?"

            "From oppression, from political strife, from—"

            "From militant dictators?"

            "Exactly."

            "Then aren't you being a hypocrite?"

            "What do you mean?"

            "You'd happily be a dictator, if only you had the power. It's lucky, isn't it, that you got involved in that scandal last year. Took you down three levels. Now, if only someone would let out the hot air—"

            "Shut up!"

            Harry continued as if he hadn't heard. "There's worse things than being a hippie pinko, as you so eloquently put it. I could be a fascist pig." He looked directly at his brother when he said this.

            Andrew's face was red with fury. "You little—" He stood up, as if to come across the table after his brother, but Jack's voice stopped him.

            "That's enough! Both of you sit down and be civil to each other. I will not tolerate fighting in this house."

            Andrew and Harry both sat back down, still glaring at each other. The battle was far from over.

            "I was thinking," Harry remarked after a moment. "I don't have to report for basic training for almost two weeks yet. I think after this week, I'm going to spend a week hiking in the Rockies."

            "From which place you will undoubtedly vanish, and not be heard from until the war is over."

            "Andrew..." Jack spoke warningly.

            "Maybe I should go to Canada," Harry told him, gesturing with his fork as though he intended to use it as a weapon. "That would really get your goat, wouldn't it, Andrew? To have to explain that your brother dodged the draft and fled to Canada. Bad enough that your nephew fled, but your brother—"

            "If you go to Canada, I can guarantee that you will never set foot in the United States again."

            "And you think you can prevent it?"

            "Trust me, _brother, if you leave this country now, you won't be coming back."_

            "Is that a threat?"

            "Stop it! Both of you!" Jack had had enough. "This discussion ends now. I will not have you bringing the war into this house."

            Andrew stood up. "You're right, Dad. It's over. I will not be in the same house with him." He looked pointedly at Harry. "Mom, Dad, Grandma—good night. I will drop by to visit again once he has left."

            "Andrew, sit down," Rose told him. "You drove four hours to get here, and there's no reason to leave so soon."

            "For the sake of family harmony, Mom, it's best that I leave now." He looked pointedly at his brother again. "Good luck, Harry. You're going to need it."

            "Not as much as you will," Harry muttered under his breath.

            Rose looked at both of her sons sharply. "I'm ashamed of both of you!" she told them. "You're brothers. You should be able to rise above this pettiness."

            "It isn't pettiness, Mom. This is about the future of this country."

            "Oh, for God's sake!" Ruth exclaimed. "The only reason that this argument will affect the future of this country is if you two continue it. From your actions tonight, I'm beginning to suspect that World War III will begin right here in Philadelphia."

            "Grandma, you don't know anything about war," Andrew told her, reaching for his jacket.

            "I've lived through five wars, young man, and my father—your great-grandfather—fought in this nation's Civil War. I've seen my son-in-law go off to war, and two of my grandsons, including you—"

            "Which just goes to show how much of a traitor Harry is. We have a long, proud history of the family in the military, and this hippie decides that he's going to change things."

            "Your mother and I would have changed things if we could," Jack told him. "When the first world war ended, people actually believed that it was the war to end all wars. I wish to God it had been. If I had had the opportunity, I would have dodged the draft during World War I, but I didn't have that option." At Andrew's shocked look, he continued, "And I'm glad that Lloyd fled to Canada. I wish that Harry would do the same. We've had more than enough people hurt and killed in wars already. We don't need any more."

            "Adam died for his country. I can't believe that you're making light of that sacrifice—"

            "I'm not making light of anything, believe me. But there comes a time when the fighting has to stop, and we passed it a long time ago. As I'm sure you're aware, we are still, technically, involved in the Korean War, and God only knows how long this conflict in Vietnam will last. We have no business being involved in either."

            "If we don't defend Vietnam, it will fall to Communism."

            "So what?" Harry interjected. "Just what, exactly, is so bad about Communism?"

            "I'm not going to explain it to you. You're obviously incapable of understanding. But if this country should fall to Communism, you'll find out soon enough."

            "Anyone who could knock you off your high horse can't be all bad."

            Andrew and Harry glowered at each other, the tension so thick it was palpable. Finally, Andrew walked to the front door and opened it. "Good night, everyone."

            The door closed behind him with a slam. Everyone sat in tense silence for a moment. Finally, Rose spoke up, her eyes filled with angry tears.

            "Harry Adam Dawson! I can't believe you and your brother acted that way toward each other. You're supposed to be adults, and yet you were fighting like children."

            Harry looked down. "Sorry, Mom."

            "You need to learn to get along. Your father and I won't be here forever, and someday you'll be glad that you have so many brothers and sisters. But you need to learn to get along with all of them, including Andrew. I know he can be difficult, but you're brothers."

            "Mom...all right. I'll try to get along with him. Maybe it's better that I'll be gone for a couple of years. We get along best when we don't see each other."

            "That's not difficult," Ruth remarked. "I got along very well with your grandfather when he was away on business." She got up to help Rose with the dishes. "It was when he was at home that we had a problem."

            Rose started clearing the table. "Mark my words, Harry. If you don't reconcile with Andrew soon, you'll be sorry for a long time. Grudges are hard to forget, especially when you let them build up."


	30. Harry's Surprise

Chapter Thirty

Summer, 1969

            Rose hung up the phone in the kitchen and walked into the living room, where Jack was watching the news on television. "Who was that?" he asked, as she sat down beside him.

            "Harry," Rose replied. "He just arrived back in Los Angeles, and he's heading out here. He says he has a surprise for us."

            "I hope his 'surprise' isn't a court martial," Jack said, a bit sourly.

            Rose sighed. Not surprisingly, Harry had refused to conform to what was expected of him in the army, and had been in constant conflict with his superiors. He had written numerous letters home complaining about the rules, the war, the food, the officers, and anything else that happened to annoy him. Once he had been sent to Vietnam, he had continued to complain, though his letters of complaint were tempered by facts about the war, which he continued to be against, and by his glowing descriptions of a woman he had met. He had been smitten with a young Vietnamese woman, who, much to the dismay of his parents, siblings, and fellow soldiers, turned out to be the sister of a prominent member of the Vietcong.

            No amount of persuading could convince Harry to stop seeing her, and Jack and Rose had been stunned to see him on the evening news with his girlfriend, openly protesting the war from Vietnam. Andrew had also seen this display, and had immediately sent his brother a furious letter—the first time they had communicated since the night in 1967 that he had stormed out in a rage because of Harry's attitude toward the war. Harry had sent him a polite but stubborn letter in return, and Andrew had refused to have anything to do with him after that.

            Andrew had also become estranged from his parents, largely because of his shock and fury at his father's admission that he would have dodged the draft during World War I if he could have, and by his father's support of the young men who had fled to Canada to avoid the Vietnam draft. He hadn't visited or spoken with his parents since his grandmother's funeral the previous summer.

            On July 2, 1968, Ruth Hockley had passed away quietly in her sleep, just a week before she would have been ninety-eight years old. Andrew had attended the funeral, as had all the other Dawson children except Harry, who couldn't be contacted, but he had refused to attend the wake, heading back to Washington, DC as soon as the funeral was over. His siblings had been shocked and upset, but he refused to associate with his parents, who he considered traitors.

            Rose had tried to contact him in January, when Jack had suffered a mild heart attack and wound up in the hospital for two weeks, but even then Andrew was unwilling to mend fences. So stubborn and set in his ways was he that he wouldn't try to see someone else's viewpoint, or even tolerate it—not even that of an elderly parent.

            Rose was brought back to the present when Jack turned from the television and asked, "When will Harry be here?"

            "Tomorrow," Rose told him, hoping that whatever Harry's "surprise" was, it wouldn't cause another fight, or a greater rift in the family. She doubted that Andrew would pay them a visit while Harry was there, but she couldn't be sure.

            "God only knows what he's gotten into this time," Jack commented. "I'm almost afraid to wonder what his 'surprise' is."

            "If it was something bad, he undoubtedly would have come right out and said it. You know how he loves to complain. And if it was something that he thought would be too shocking for us, he probably would have kept it a secret. You know how concerned he was after I wrote to him about your heart attack."

            "We also wrote to him about the rift in the family after Andrew decided that we were traitors, and it didn't stop him from writing an upsetting letter to his brother."

            "If you'd had a brother who had told you to stay away from me, would you have listened?"

            "Probably not," Jack admitted, running a hand through his white hair.

            "Then why expect Harry to? You and I did some outrageous things in our youth."

            "You mean we've stopped?" Jack teased her, momentarily forgetting his concerns about his son.

            Rose gave him a look of mock offense. "We're both perfectly respectable now."

            "Which is why you got that speeding ticket last week. What was it that cop called you—the little old lady from Pasadena?"

            Rose sniffed. "Actually, I'm from Philadelphia. And I'm as tall as I ever was."

            "And you look sixty, not seventy-four."

            "That's still old."

            "Not really. He got the 'lady' part right, though."

            Rose laughed. "You're a good liar."

            "So I've been told. But how many old ladies have natural brown hair?"

            Rose patted her head, pretending to fix her hair. Jack laughed, looking at her. Around the time that she had turned sixty, Rose's once red hair had begun to fade to an attractive shade of light brown. At seventy-four, her hair was still light brown, with just a touch of gray, and she still wore it long, unlike many women her age. Jack often told her that she was beautiful, and she always argued with him, but she knew that he meant it. They had been together for fifty-seven years, and Jack still thought she was as beautiful as the day he'd first seen her on the Titanic, so long ago.

*****

            Jack got up from his chair as the doorbell rang. He could hear Rose coming down the stairs, and shouted to her that he had the door.

            He opened the door to find Harry on the other side. Jack looked at him in surprise.

            "Harry! We weren't expecting you until afternoon. We were going to pick you up at the airport."

            "I caught an earlier flight. The second I stepped off the plane, I was confronted by anti-war protesters, calling me baby-killer, among other things."

            "Didn't you used to do the same thing?"

            "I've learned something now. We were yelling at the wrong people. It wasn't the people who got drafted we should have been yelling at, it was the people who went there voluntarily, and the people in the government."

            "I'm sure Andrew would love to hear you say that."

            "Andrew doesn't love anything, except maybe his career."

            Jack picked up the bag Harry had dropped in front of the door and set it on the couch. "Well, are you going to come in?"

            "Just a second." Harry turned to pick up something he had set behind him. "People stopped calling me baby-killer after they saw this."

            "After they saw what?" Rose asked, coming to the door.

            Harry turned, holding a baby carrier. A tiny, black-haired infant with a mixture of Vietnamese and Caucasian features lay inside, one tiny thumb in its mouth.

            "Mom, Dad, I'd like you to meet my 'surprise'. This is my daughter, Susan Thao Dawson. Your granddaughter."

            Jack and Rose stared at the baby, stunned. They had eleven grandchildren and four great-grandchildren, but this was the first grandchild they had found out about after birth.

            "Where's her mother?" Jack asked, looking more closely at the baby. The tiny girl had black hair and somewhat slanted eyes, but resembled her father in most other ways.

            "She died," Harry explained, avoiding their eyes. "She got some kind of a fever after Susan was born, and died about three days later."

            "How old is Susan?" Rose wanted to know. The baby couldn't be more than a few weeks old.

            "Two weeks old yesterday," Harry told them proudly. "Her uncle went looking for me, wanting to know what I planned to do about her. A lot of Americans just leave their offspring behind, and a lot of Vietnamese won't accept these kids, because they consider them to be Americans."

            "Was her mother the same woman that we saw with you on television? The one with the Vietcong brother?"

            "Yes. In fact, he was the one who wanted to know what I planned to do with Susan. He found me the day before I was supposed to leave Vietnam, and I managed to talk my superiors into letting me take her back to the United States with me. A lot of kids get left behind, but I figured she'd be better off here, rather than left behind as a war orphan. She'll have a family here."

            "Are you planning on raising her alone?" Jack asked.

            "Well, yes. She's my daughter. Although...maybe you and Mom could give me some pointers on taking care of her? I'm not quite sure what to do with her sometimes."

            "Of course," Rose told him. "May I hold her?"

            "Sure, Mom." Harry lifted the baby girl from the carrier, placing her in her grandmother's arms. Susan whimpered for a moment, disturbed by the strange arms holding her, then relaxed, putting her thumb back in her mouth.

            Rose sat down on the couch, cradling the infant. Susan opened her eyes and stared with infant fascination at her grandmother. "She's beautiful, Harry," Rose told him, as Susan wrapped a tiny fist around her finger and held on tight.

            "She looks a lot like you, Mom. She has your face, except for the eyes. She gets her eyes from her mother."

            Jack sat down beside Rose. After a moment, she handed the baby to him. Jack rocked Susan gently as she stared at him, her eyes wide and accepting of her new family.

            Harry dug a package of formula out of his bag. "She'll be hungry soon," he told his parents. "I've been feeding her this formula. Someone told me that cow's milk isn't good for babies, so she gets this."

            "You're right. Cow's milk isn't good for babies," Rose told him. "Do you know how to prepare that?"

            "I've figured it out. I just follow the instructions on the package." He headed for the kitchen.

            "Harry," Rose called.

            "Yeah, Mom?"

            "We're proud of you. You did the right thing, bringing her home with you. If you ever need our help, we'll be there."

            "Thanks, Mom."


	31. Death of a Beloved

Chapter Thirty-One

August 6, 1970

            Rose lay down beside Jack, wrapping her arms around him. He hugged her back, only half-aware of what was going on. Half-asleep, he leaned back against the stack of pillows and closed his eyes.

            Rose sighed, settling closer to him. Jack's heart had grown progressively weaker since his heart attack over a year and a half earlier. He suffered from congestive heart failure, and often had trouble breathing, hence the pile of pillows to keep his head elevated. He found breathing easier in that position.

            Rose rested her head against his shoulder, trying to fall asleep herself. She was worried about Jack. Despite the use of several medications, his heart was still growing weaker, and she knew that it was only a matter of time before it gave out completely. His health had improved somewhat when the doctor had convinced him to give up smoking, but too much damage had been done for it to be reversed. They had looked into the possibility of surgery, but the doctor had told them that Jack's physical condition was too poor for it to be risked, and that he was likely to live longer without surgery.

            She closed her eyes, moving her head to her own pillow. There wasn't really anything either of them could do, but it didn't stop her from worrying.

*****

            Jack awoke suddenly, clutching his chest. A glance at the clock told him that it was just past four AM. He tried to sit up, but the pain overwhelmed him, shooting down his left arm and radiating into his jaw.

            He knew immediately what it was—another heart attack. His first heart attack had been mild, but it was an experience he had never forgotten. This was worse—much worse.

            He reached out with his right arm and shook Rose, rousing her from sleep.

            "Hmm?" she asked, turning over. "Jack? What's wrong?"

            "I...think...I'm having...a...heart attack."

            "Oh, my God." Rose sat up, suddenly wide awake. "How long has this been going on?"

            "I...just...woke up."

            "Hang on," she told him, reaching for the phone on her bedside table. "I'm going to call an ambulance."

            She quickly dialed 9-1-1, explaining to the dispatcher what was going on, keeping a sharp eye on Jack the whole time. When he began gasping for breath, she begged the dispatcher to hurry and send an ambulance.

            Jack collapsed just before the ambulance reached their home. Rose tried to resuscitate him—she had learned CPR and first aid the year before, following Jack's first heart attack—but to no avail. When the paramedics arrived, she sat back helplessly, watching as they tried to shock his heart back into functioning.

*****

            Rose rode in the ambulance with Jack to the hospital. The paramedics had managed to get his heart beating again, but it stopped after a few minutes.

            She sat in the waiting room, her hands clenching and unclenching around the arms of the chair, waiting. She knew that there was little hope, but wouldn't allow herself to accept it. She and Jack had been together for fifty-eight years; it couldn't just end like this. She was still strong and healthy, and would probably live for years yet. Rose didn't want to face the prospect of living those years without Jack.

            After two hours, the doctor finally came into the waiting room. Rose saw the grim expression on his face, and knew without asking what he was going to say.

            "Mrs. Dawson?"

            Rose nodded, mutely.

            "I'm sorry, Mrs. Dawson. Your husband didn't make it."

            Rose just nodded, unable to form a response. All of the years she and Jack had spent together flashed through her mind, lingering on important moments. Fifty-eight years, that were now over.


	32. Goodbye

Chapter Thirty-Two

August 9, 1970

            Rose sat in the front pew of the church, her gaze fixed on the coffin in front of the altar. She took little notice of those sitting around her—her children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren, friends and colleagues of Jack's. He had been well-liked, well-respected. Louise sat in the pew behind her. Rose had called to tell her of Jack's death the day after it had happened, and she had immediately flown out from Cedar Rapids to Philadelphia. She had been very sympathetic toward Rose, understanding what she was going through, since her own husband had died seven years earlier.

            Rose looked up for a moment, looking around the church. Cal and Nathan Hockley were there, sitting on the other side. It was amazing, she thought, how Cal and Jack had grown to be friends after years of enmity. Nathan, of course, had not wanted to miss the funeral of his old art teacher, and had driven down from New York City.

            Rose looked behind her, wondering if Andrew would be there. She had left a message with his secretary that his father had died, but Andrew had still not contacted her. She wondered if he had decided to completely cut his ties with the family, as none of his siblings had heard from him either.

            She turned her attention to the front as the minister began to speak. She had been allowed to see Jack one last time before he had been taken to the undertaker, to say good-bye. She had almost not recognized him, lying there so quiet and still. Even after his heart had gotten so weak that he had trouble getting around, there had always been an underlying energy, one that was absent now. What was left was only the shell; the essence of what Jack had been was gone. She had stayed only a few minutes before she knew that it was time to leave. It hadn't been Jack lying there, only his body. His soul, that part of him that had made him who he was, had gone on ahead, and she somehow knew that when her turn came, he would be waiting for her.

            She looked at the coffin in front of her. She had insisted upon a closed casket funeral, as she knew Jack had wanted. He hadn't wanted people viewing him after he was gone, seeing what remained of his living form. He wanted them to remember him as he had been, full of life.

            Rose stared straight ahead, dry-eyed. The five of her children that were present all wept for their father, but Rose could not. She had cried when she had gone to say good-bye to him, but now she seemed to be beyond tears. She missed him with an intensity she could not explain to anyone. He had been more than just her husband, more than friend and lover. He had been her soulmate, and it felt as though a part of herself had died with him.

            Near the end of the eulogy, Rose heard the door open at the back of the sanctuary, and turned briefly to see who it was.

            Andrew slipped in the door and sat in the back pew alone. He was dressed in civilian garb for a change, a plain black suit. Rose was glad that he had come, glad that he had chosen to acknowledge his father, even now, when he was gone.

            At the end of the service, Rose joined Gregory and Emily for the short drive to the cemetery. She looked for Andrew, but he had slipped away before anyone could speak to him.

            When they arrived at the cemetery, the everyone gathered around the burial site. It was in the north section of the cemetery, next to where Adam had been buried twenty-six years earlier. Thirteen years before, when Jack had retired, they had purchased one burial plot for both of them. The headstone was already there; Rose had paid extra to have it made in time for the funeral. It read:

Jack Dawson

1892 - 1970

Beloved Husband and Father

            Below that were the words:

Rose Dawson

1895 -

            It was disconcerting, Rose thought dully, to see her own name on a headstone when she was still alive. She didn't know how long it would be before she, too, took her place beneath that headstone.

            She looked up as the pallbearers gathered around the hearse—Gregory, Libby, Nancy, Heidi, and Harry. She had asked the five of them to do this, knowing that they would want to perform this one last service for their father, and had asked Gregory to find the sixth pallbearer, since she doubted that Andrew would want to be a part of it. Nathan Hockley had assured her that if Andrew did not show up, he would take his place, a gesture of respect for the man who had first taught him art, who had set him on his way to a career as a successful comic book artist.

            Rose saw the six of them go to pick up the coffin, and was surprised when a black-clad man came up and spoke to them quietly, then took Nathan's place. Andrew. He had decided to take part in his father's funeral after all.

            The crowd watched as the six Dawson children carried their father's coffin toward the open grave. All were sorrowful, but none more than Andrew, whose grief-ravaged face showed how much he regretted cutting his ties with his family these past three years. He had always meant to mend bridges with his father, apologize for the way he had treated him, but he had never found the time to do so, and now it was too late.

            They carried the coffin to the grave, then stood back as the minister said a few words over it. Rose and her grandchildren came to stand beside them as the coffin was lowered into the ground. At the last, Rose picked up a handful of dirt, squeezing her fist around it, filling it with her love, before dropping it with a dull thud on the coffin below. The others followed suit, saying good-bye to the man who had been father and grandfather to them.

            Afterwards, Rose walked quietly to the cemetery gates, wanting to be alone for a few minutes. Gregory and Emily would catch up with her. She stood silently, looking down at two other graves, those of her father and mother, wishing suddenly that Ruth was still alive. Though they hadn't gotten along well when Rose was a child, Ruth had been loving and supportive in later years, giving Rose a shoulder to cry on when Adam had died. Ruth would have understood what it was like to lose a husband; she had outlived two of them. Though Rose knew other women who had been widowed, her daughter Libby among them, it wasn't the same talking to them as it would have been talking to Ruth. The others could not give her the same level of understanding as her mother would have.

            She looked up when she heard low voices a few yards away. Andrew and Harry were walking along the path, talking quietly. Harry was looking at his brother warily, and Rose tensed, fearing that the two would fight again. Andrew spoke to his brother in a quiet, pleading tone, speaking words that Rose could not make out, looking at his younger brother. At last, Harry turned to Andrew, and slowly held out his hand. The brothers shook hands, and then, after a moment, quietly embraced.

            Rose's eyes filled with tears. She mourned for Jack, missed him terribly, but his death had brought their sons together, and for that she was grateful.


	33. A Surprise Visitor

Chapter Thirty-Three

August 30, 1970

            Rose sat in her rocking chair, gazing at the closed blinds as the sun rose outside the window. She couldn't remember how long she had been sitting there, but it been light when she had sat down. She leaned forward, stiff from sitting there for so long.

            It had been three weeks since the funeral, three of the longest weeks of her life. Family and friends had visited with her, but she had wanted only to be alone, and they had finally left her to herself. Those who lived far away had gone home, and she had virtually ignored the attempts of those living nearby to bring her out of the house, out of herself.

            For the last week, she hadn't gone out at all. It had occurred to her that she should, that she needed to go the supermarket and buy food, that people would be wondering why she didn't come to church, why she didn't go to the meetings of the women's club she had joined some ten years earlier, or work in her beautiful garden, or walk around her neighborhood, stopping to chat with whoever she happened to meet. Paul had offered to bring her to Pittsburgh for a few days, to get her out of the dark, silent house, but Rose had refused. She saw no reason to try anything, no reason to go out and resume her old activities.

            What did it really matter? she thought, sitting back and closing her eyes against the morning light. What reason did she have to go on, to continue on with life? Jack was gone, and she was alone. Did it really matter if she kept on living? Maybe it would be better to continue on as she had this past week, to let things take their course, so that she would be reunited with Jack soon.

            It occurred to her, vaguely, that she was hungry, and she walked slowly into the kitchen, looking into the almost empty refrigerator. Libby had bought groceries for her two weeks before, but there wasn't much left, and much of what was there was rotten.

            Peering into the refrigerator, she picked up a dish containing the remains of a casserole that one of her neighbors had brought her three days ago, and ate the food slowly, not really tasting it. Setting the dish in the sink, she looked around at the kitchen. It was a mess, she thought, seeing the dishes stacked in the sink, the dust on the table, and the sticky spot on the floor where her great-granddaughter, Elizabeth—Lizzy, as she preferred to be called—had spilled Kool-Aid. She really should clean it, she thought, but made no move to do so. Instead, she walked back into the living room and sat down in her rocking chair again, the place where she had spent most of the last three weeks.

            Rose rubbed her neck, stiff from sleeping in the wooden chair. Jack had bought her this chair when Libby was born, and it had served her well for rocking generations of babies, but it wasn't made for sleeping in.

            She hadn't been inside her bedroom since Jack had died. Every time she started to go inside, a wave of memories would assail her, and she couldn't bring herself to walk through the door. She had been sleeping in one of the extra bedrooms down the hall—when she remembered to go up to bed at all. Often, she would doze off in her rocking chair, awaking stiff and sore from sleeping on the hard wood, but she didn't always feel that it was worth it to go upstairs, or even move to the couch.

            She looked up, startled, as someone rang the doorbell. Sitting back in her chair, she ignored it. Whoever it was would give up in a moment and go away. When they began knocking on the door, she sighed, but still made no move to get up.

            Rose's eyes flew open in alarm as the person at the door opened it and walked in, not bothering to wait for her permission. Her eyes narrowed as Cal walked across the room, leaning on his cane. He settled himself on the couch, lifting his feet up to rest them on the coffee table.

            "You really should keep your door locked," he told her. "You never know who might walk in."

            For the first time in days, Rose's eyes showed some animation. "Get out."

            He didn't listen. Instead, he reached into the candy dish on the table, helping himself to a mint. He chewed it carefully with his false teeth, eyeing her the whole time.

            "I said, get out." Rose glared at him.

            He still ignored her, looking around the room. "This place is a real mess. How long has it been since you've cleaned?"

            "If you want my house cleaned, do it yourself." Rose considered getting up and physically removing him—she was stronger and younger than Cal—but decided that it wasn't worth it. He'd get bored and leave soon enough.

            "You don't look very good yourself."

            Rose turned her tired eyes to look at him. "What do you expect? I'm an old woman."

            "Most old women that I've met are neatly attired, have their hair fixed, and wear makeup. You don't look like an old woman. You look like a hag."

            Rose's eyes flashed. "And just why is my appearance any of your concern? You're just an old man who can't even get around without a cane."

            "At least I don't sit in a rocking chair all day with the lights off and the curtains closed. How long have you been sitting there, anyway? You're going to put down roots if you're not careful."

            He paused, taking another piece of candy from the dish. Rose was sorely tempted to hit him with his cane.

            "You know, I don't think he would have wanted to you to act like this."

            "What do you mean?" Rose glowered at him.

            "Sitting here all the time, letting yourself wither away. I think he would have wanted you to keep going."

            "How dare you presume to tell me what Jack would have wanted for me?" Rose had had enough. Rising stiffly from her chair, she walked across the room to confront him. "Get out of my house before I call the police."

            He looked at her with a half-smirk that reminded her uncannily of the days before Titanic, when they had been young, engaged, and at odds with each other.

            Turning on her heel, Rose headed for the hallway and the stairs. "Jerk!" she muttered, echoing Lizzy's favorite description of males in general.

            Slowly, she made her way up the stairs, clinging to the banister. She hadn't spent much time walking the past few weeks, and she hadn't gotten nearly enough food or sleep. It was beginning to have a detrimental effect on her, but her heart still beat strongly, and she still woke up every morning with the sunlight.

            She paused at the closed door to her bedroom, debating whether to go in. Finally, she opened the door for the first time since she had returned home from the hospital after Jack's death. Stepping inside, she closed it behind her.

            The room was dusty, but nothing had been disturbed. None of her visitors had gone inside, and everything was still exactly as she'd left it. The covers on the bed were tangled where she had tossed them aside when the paramedics came, and her nightgown lay on the floor of the bathroom where she'd thrown it when she hurried to get dressed that night.

            Walking over to the mirror, she looked closely at herself. Cal was right. She did look like a hag. Her gray-brown hair was matted and greasy from not being washed, and the fine lines that had developed on her face with the passage of time formed deep furrows of strain and grief. There was a stained spot on her blouse where she had dropped a forkful of casserole the previous evening, and her once elegantly manicured nails were broken and jagged. Her eyes were red from lack of sleep and crying.

            Turning from the mirror, she wandered over to the bed, sitting down on Jack's side. Picking up one of the pillows, she hugged it to her chest, rocking gently. It still carried his scent.

            Burying her face in the pillow, Rose began to cry softly, murmuring brokenly to herself.

            "Jack, why did you have to leave me? Why did you have to die? You weren't so old...only seventy-eight. We should have had many more years together. Fifty-eight years wasn't enough."

            Reaching into her pocket, she took out the simple gold wedding band that Jack had worn since they had been married on that long-ago November afternoon in 1912. It had been returned to her before he was buried, and she had carried it in the pocket of whatever she had been wearing ever since. It comforted her a little to be able to hold onto something that had meant so much to both of them for so long. They could easily have replaced the simple gold bands with more elaborate rings when their fortunes had improved, but the rings they had exchanged when they had made their vows meant more to them than any expensive piece of jewelry could. It was a symbol of what bound them together, and in all their years of marriage, those bonds had never been broken.

            Rose clutched the ring tightly, curling up against the remaining pillows. She missed Jack desperately, and would have given everything she owned to have him back, even for a short time. Wiping her red, swollen eyes, she stretched out, still hugging the pillow to her chest, paying no attention as the door opened quietly and Cal walked in.

            He sat down beside her, not saying a word, just putting a hand on her shoulder comfortingly. Rose sniffed, swallowing back a sob, as she sat up, her eyes still streaming tears.

            "I'm sorry, Rose," he told her, helping her sit up. "I shouldn't have said those things to you."

            "You were right," she responded, wiping tears from her cheeks. "He wouldn't have wanted me to do this. He would have wanted me to go on with life. I dreamed the other night that he told me not to let go, not to give up. I'm strong, and I'm healthy, and...and I have a big family, and lots of friends. When Lizzy was last here, she told me that I should get a puppy to keep me company, because it's hard to be sad when there's a dog looking at you adoringly and following you around the house." She choked on a sob. "Maybe I should take her advice."

            "Maybe you should. I know a man who breeds dogs. I could bring you a puppy, if you like."

            Rose nodded her head. "Yes. Thank you, Cal." She leaned tiredly against him.

            There had been a time when she had wished never to see Cal again, but now she was glad that he was there. They had become friends over the years since Gregory and Emily were married, and they shared several grandchildren and great-grandchildren. Cal was the only person who had known Jack as long as Rose had, and, although they hadn't gotten along in earlier years, the three of them had become almost as close as family over the past few decades.

            "Why don't you get some rest?" Cal suggested, as Rose's eyes drooped sleepily. "I'll have my housekeeper clean up downstairs for you, and go to the market."

            Rose nodded wearily, her shoulders still shaking with the occasional sob, and set the ring on Jack's nightstand. Kicking off her shoes, she crawled under the covers, still clutching the pillow to her chest. Curling up on Jack's side of the bed, she rested her head on his pillows, scarcely noticing when Cal pulled the covers up around her shoulders. She fell asleep quickly, not noticing when Cal finally left the room and closed the door quietly behind him.


	34. Healing

Chapter Thirty-Four

Rose slowly recovered from the loss of Jack. While she would never forget him, time did heal wounds, and her grief slowly lessened. She realized that Jack would have wanted her to go on with life, and slowly but surely, she did.

She began working in her garden again, finding that the act of digging into the soil, planting seeds, and nurturing the young plants had a healing effect on her, and resumed walking around the neighborhood, the puppy that Cal had brought her tugging her along. She rejoined her friends in the women's club, and began taking part in different activities at her church.

When she felt up to it, Rose began traveling again, visiting with her children and grandchildren. There were a total of seven great-grandchildren now, and she visited with all of them, getting to know them as she had not had a chance to do before. Jack had been too weak to travel for several months before his death, and their grandchildren had been busy with their own lives and didn't often visit Philadelphia, except for the Calverts in Pittsburgh, who lived close enough that they had visited almost every week.

Rose visited often with her children in Philadelphia, Gregory and Libby. Gregory was still running the art gallery, a legacy from his father, and he was teaching his youngest daughter, Gina, to take over after him. Gina was the youngest of Gregory and Emily's children, fourteen years old and the only one still living at home. Her talents lay more in photography than in drawing or painting, and she often unnerved her parents by staying around scenes of crimes or accidents to get human interest photos. Many of her photographs were displayed in the art gallery, which was slowly changing form and function.

Libby's children were grown and had left home, but she had continued her career as a researcher, making strides in the study of radiation-induced diseases and birth defects. She had never remarried, but had instead spent the last five years living with a man she had met while serving as a guest lecturer at a local college. Libby was three years older than him, and it occurred to Rose that she should be shocked by her daughter's living arrangements, but for some reason she wasn't. Maybe, she thought, it was because she had spent so many years shocking people herself. She had asked Libby once why she didn't marry the man she was living with, but Libby had just shrugged and replied that she didn't wish to, and that she enjoyed her freedom. She had rejected the idea that she might need to marry him; after all, it was the 1970's, and mores had changed somewhat since she was a young girl, and beyond that, she was fifty-five years old and certainly wouldn't be having any more children. Rose, knowing that nothing was going to change Libby's mind, didn't push her.

One thing that did surprise Rose was the amount of attention Cal paid to her. He had always kept his distance before, while Jack had been alive, but about four months after Jack had passed away, he began accompanying Rose on her walks around the neighborhood. Rose was somewhat annoyed by this at first—she had to slow down and wait for him, as he was much slower now than her—but after a while she began to appreciate his company. She understood now why he had walked into her house uninvited that day—to shock her out of her misery, and get her back on the road to living again. He was a friend, and technically her step-brother, though she had never really thought of him as such. He was also an in-law, through the marriage of Gregory and Emily, but after a time she realized that he was becoming more than that to her.

She would never love him as she had loved Jack—such a love came only once in a lifetime—but she did develop a certain affection for him, one that was more than just friendly. They had fought bitterly when they were young and engaged, but time and circumstances had mellowed their tempers considerably, and the fifty years they had spent as neighbors, and later friends, had brought them closer together.

She continued seeing Cal, walking around the neighborhood with him, and after a time he became stronger, and even left his cane at home most of the time. They began to go places together—dating, Gregory and Emily teased them, though they both denied it—and Rose realized that they felt something for each other. Sometimes she quailed at the idea, almost feeling as though it was a betrayal of Jack, but Jack was gone, and she and Cal were alive, and somehow, she knew that Jack would understand.


	35. The Old and the New

Chapter Thirty-Five

September, 1971

It had been over a year since Jack's death, and Rose had come to accept that he was gone. She spent a great deal of time with friends and family members, but it was Cal that she saw the most. They walked around the neighborhood together every day, rain or shine, and had finally admitted that Gregory and Emily were right—they were dating. It wasn't the same as when they had been young, and Ruth and Nathan had arranged a marriage between them; instead, it was a much more mature relationship, without the power struggles that had marred their early times together.

Late in September of 1971, Cal took Rose out to a restaurant that had been a favorite of his for years. It wasn't fancy, and certainly wasn't the sort of place he would have considered patronizing before he lost his fortune in the stock market crash in 1929, but he learned, with time, that less expensive establishments could be equally satisfying; sometimes moreso, without the one-upmanship and competition that had so often characterized his old crowd.

Cal escorted Rose to a small table near the back of the restaurant, and waited while the waitress dropped off their menus and left. After they had perused the menus for a moment, he spoke to Rose.

"It's been a long time."

"What has?"

"We've known each other a long time."

She nodded. "Yes. Sixty years now, if I recall correctly. Wasn't it in September of 1911 that our parents first arranged for us to marry?"

"And yet, it doesn't seem that long ago. I remember meeting you as a debutante, with that lovely red hair and an unquenchable fire."

Rose smiled ruefully, touching her now-gray hair. "You certainly tried to put that fire out."

"I didn't know what to do with you. You were so lively, so fascinated with the world around you—not like most debutantes. Your very independence frightened me."

"Unlike Laura, who was everything you could have wanted in a wife."

Cal laughed mirthlessly. "So I thought, until I realized that under the pretty face and fine manners, there was nothing there. No substance, no thoughts of her own."

"But you got her with child, and married her."

"And I've never regretted the children. Laura and I were never really happy together, but I was never sorry for the children we brought into the world. Emily and Nathan were my pride and joy from the moment they were born."

"And now there's grandchildren, and great-grandchildren."

"Yes. And we share them all."

"It's a pity that Nathan never married, but I suppose that marriage isn't for everyone."

They were interrupted as the waitress came back to take their orders. When she had left, Rose looked at Cal again.

"Whatever happened to Laura? Did she ever divorce you?"

Cal shook his head. "No. She never did. She wanted the protection and status of my name, even if she had no wish to be with me, or I with her. And I never bothered to force the issue. There was never another woman who I wanted to marry, so I saw no reason to push for divorce."

"Where is Laura now? Did she ever contact you or your children after she left."

"No, she never did. I think it hurt Emily more than it hurt Nathan—he had long since accepted that his mother was never going to be close to him, but Emily kept hoping. She never saw either of them again, though, or even wrote or called. We finally heard from her lawyer in 1960—she was dying of cancer, and wanted to make sure that her wishes were fulfilled. She died two weeks later. I arranged for her funeral and burial in Pittsburgh, near to her family. I was the only one at her funeral. Emily and Nathan refused to be there, and she didn't have anyone else. She had so thoroughly alienated people that she had no friends in the end."

Rose was silent for a moment. "I didn't like Laura—I can't pretend otherwise—but I pity her. How sad to have no one care for you, to be unable to care for anyone else."

"She always wanted to be on top of the social ladder, but she never was. She never had many friends, and once she married me, her parents virtually ignored her. She was never a very happy person, and I must admit that I didn't help. We didn't deal well together, except for in the marriage bed, and that's not enough to base a successful marriage on. I was relieved when she left, in a way—I had lost everything, and she couldn't stop berating me for that."

"Was that before or after you tried to put a pistol in your mouth?"

"Before. That...incident...came two days after she left. Her leaving was a blow to my pride, and I felt that with my life in shambles, everything I had worked for gone, there was no reason to go on. But Nathan stepped into my study just as I put the gun in my mouth, and screamed for Emily to help. They got the gun away from me, and talked me out of it. I realized then that I did have something to live for—my two children. I had lost everything else, but I still had them, and they were more important than anything else could have been. I shudder to think what would have happened to them if I had pulled that trigger."

Rose put her hand on his. "Jack and I would have taken them in. They had spent so much time with us that they had almost become members of the family. But it was better that you took care of them. They had already lost their mother—not to death, but to abandonment. Think of how losing their father to suicide would have affected them."

He nodded. "I know. It would have been selfish of me to leave them that way. And I'm glad that I didn't, glad that all these years later, I'm still alive. I'm eighty-nine years old, and I've had a good life—but it isn't over yet."

"Some people say that in old age people no longer want to live, no longer take any pleasure in life. I've rarely seen that to be true."

"Nor have I. Old age doesn't seem so old, once you get to it. I'm still wondering when I will really get old."

"Eighty-nine isn't old enough?" Rose teased him.

"Not if I can live to see ninety."

Rose's laughter rang out in the quiet restaurant, making a few people look up and stare. When her laughter had faded away, she looked at Cal, her eyes still sparkling with mirth.

"We both have a lot of living to do," he told her, his eyes taking on a serious look that made Rose's smile fade somewhat.

"Yes," she responded, grateful when the waitress brought their meals, breaking the mood for a moment.

Cal went on. "Sixty years ago, I asked you to be my wife. We've both grown and changed since then. We've married other people, had children—and you, at least, had a long happy marriage, one that I sometimes envied. I envied Jack for having you for a wife, and I envied both of you for your happiness. Now, we're both widowed, but perhaps we can claim some of that happiness for ourselves, in these late years of our lives." He pulled a box from his pocket, revealing a simple but pretty ring. "Rose, I'm asking you to marry me."

There had been a time when Rose would have been shocked by the proposal, would have laughed or stalked out in fury. Now, however, she had no such qualms. She would never forget Jack, but life did go on, and she was ready to move on with hers. As she answered, she could almost sense Jack watching her, looking on approvingly.

"Yes," she told him, giving him her hand. Cal slipped the ring on her finger. "Yes, after all these years, I will marry you."


	36. Married

Chapter Thirty-Six

December 15, 1971

            Rose and Cal set their wedding date for December 15, 1971. It was to be a much larger wedding than Rose's first, surrounded as they were by friends and family, but a smaller wedding than Cal and Laura's. No longer a member of the upper class, Cal did not find it important to make it a social achievement by inviting all of the most important members of Philadelphia society. Instead, they invited all of their children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren, as well as the many friends each had made over the years.

            Surprisingly, none of their children had objected to the marriage, not even a token objection. Laura had left her family behind forty-two years earlier, and Rose had been more of a mother to Emily and Nathan than Laura ever had, and Rose's children, while they still missed their father, understood her need to go on with life, and wanted her to be happy.

            In November, Cal and Rose had each sold the large, empty houses that they lived in and had purchased a smaller, much easier to care for house on the outskirts of Philadelphia. They had moved out of their old houses just a few days before the wedding, to allow the new families to move in.

            On the morning of December 15, Rose stood at the back of the church, waiting for the ceremony to begin. It was a cold but clear day, with a thin layer of snow on the ground outside, and the sun shone brightly through the windows of the church.

            Rose's two bridesmaids, Gina and Lizzy, stood at the entrance to the sanctuary, waiting for the music to begin. Rose looked admiringly at their gowns, which were made of pale pink chiffon and satin and resembled the dress she had worn the last night on Titanic. She still had the dress, shredded and stained as it was, and the bridesmaids' gowns had been copied from it.

            Between the bridesmaids stood two-year-old Susan, the flower girl. Susan could hardly keep still, playing with the flower petals in her basket, tugging on her cousins' sashes, and trying to run out into the aisle. Her cousins restrained her, and Harry finally came over and spoke a few sharp words to her, which only settled her down for a moment.

            Finally, Gina picked her up, giving the flower basket to Lizzy, and walked around, trying to calm the excited toddler. Rose laughed as Gina tossed her red hair back and talked to the little girl, making Susan giggle.

            People had often commented on how much Gina resembled Rose, something that never failed to amuse both of them. They were not related by blood; Gina had been adopted by Gregory and Emily in 1962 when she was six years old. The couple had wanted another child for years, but had been unable to have one, so they had finally adopted Gina shortly after Emily's forty-ninth birthday. She was as much a part of the Dawson family as any of those related by blood, and Rose was proud to have her for a granddaughter.

            Rose looked down at her own wedding outfit, an elegant pink suit with a pearl pin attached to one shoulder. She could never have worn such a color when she was younger, with her red hair, but now that she was seventy-six years old, and her hair had turned to gray, it looked elegant and sophisticated. She had had her hair highlighted in silver for the occasion, and each of her children had told her how beautiful she looked. Susan had told her she was pretty, and said that when she grew up, she wanted to have silver hair just like Grandma's.

            Rose looked up as Gregory, Andrew, and Harry gathered around her. Andrew took her arm, and led her to stand behind the bridesmaids as the music began.

            "Gregory...Andrew...Harry...what are you doing?"

            "We're giving you away, Mom," Gregory told her, as Gina, Susan, and Lizzy started up the aisle. "Someone has to, and since we don't have a grandfather to give you away, we're doing it."

            Rose smiled at them. She hadn't had anyone to give her away at her first wedding, but she didn't tell them that. If they wanted to give their mother away, she would allow it.

            Gina and Lizzy made their way up the aisle, Susan between them. The toddler exuberantly tossed flower petals into the air, covering herself, the floor, her cousins, and several of the guests with them. When she tried to stop and pick some of the petals up, her cousins took her firmly by the hands and marched up the aisle, not giving her a chance to protest or scream.

            When the bridal march began, Rose stepped into the aisle on Andrew's arm, her two other sons following close behind. Andrew had become much closer to the family after his father's death, and had been the first to congratulate Rose and Cal on their engagement. Now, dressed in civilian garb instead of military, he escorted his mother up the aisle to her second husband.

            As the music ended, and Rose came to stand beside Cal, the minister asked, "Who gives this woman to be married to this man?"

            The three brothers stood together proudly. "We do."

            As the minister spoke the words that would make Cal and Rose husband and wife, Rose thought back over the years. She and Cal had not gotten along well the first time they had been engaged. They had both been young and determined to have the final say on everything. The years had mellowed them both, as well as their experiences in life. No longer did they engage in power struggles, and each was far more tolerant of the other's idiosyncrasies than they had been before.

            Cal had not objected when Rose had told him that she wished to keep the last name Dawson. It had been her name for almost sixty years, since the day she had disembarked from the Carpathia. She had taken the name as her own long before she had married Jack, and the name was a part of her. Though her keeping the name Dawson indicated a certain unwillingness to completely let Jack go, Cal had accepted her decision, knowing that Rose and Jack had shared something that he would never quite comprehend, and that the couple would always be inextricably linked, though Jack was gone.

            At the end of the ceremony, when Cal and Rose walked back down the aisle, the guests stood up and applauded. Rose smiled, looking at the faces of family and friends, and then, at the back of the church, it seemed to her that she saw a translucent figure looking on and applauding as well.

            She glanced away, and when she looked back, the figure had vanished. But somehow, she knew that Jack had been there, and that he approved.


	37. Four Years

Chapter Thirty-Seven

December, 1975

            Rose finished washing the last of the baking sheets and stretched, glad to be done. It was almost Christmas, and friends and relatives had been dropping by almost every day, bringing cookies or fruitcake or other Christmas goodies. Rose had decided that it was time to return the favor, and had been baking since early morning. It was now late afternoon, and the sun had set outside the kitchen window half an hour ago.

            Nibbling on a cookie, Rose went to see what Cal was doing. He had been watching sports on television when she had last seen him, just after lunch—or trying to, anyway. His eyesight was growing worse all the time.

            Rose wandered into the living room, a plate of cookies in her hand, to where Cal was sitting in an easy chair, still watching television. She had never quite understood what it was that men liked so much about sports—she had never found it too terribly interesting herself—but she didn't argue about it.

            Sitting down in another easy chair next to Cal's, Rose offered him the plate of cookies. He squinted at her for a moment before accepting one, then absentmindedly set the plate on the arm of the chair, almost dropping it on the floor.

            Quickly, Rose took the plate from him. Cal was always absentminded when he was thinking about something else. One of her friends had suggested that it might be a sign of senility, but Rose doubted it. He had always been that way, as long as she could remember. When they had sailed on the Titanic, she had seen the puzzled looks of maids who found such items as champagne glasses and boxes of matches in odd places, courtesy of Cal setting things down and forgetting about them. He hadn't changed any with the passage of time, although now he was more inclined to misplace his false teeth or his glasses. Rose couldn't help but laugh when she found them in strange places, such as the refrigerator or the silverware drawer.

            Cal reached over and took Rose's hand, smiling at her briefly before returning his attention to the game. Rose squeezed his hand, and settled back in her chair, trying to understand what was happening on the television.

            They had recently celebrated their fourth anniversary, and Rose had never regretted her decision to marry Cal. It would have been a disaster when they were young, but in their older years they had learned to tolerate each other. Not that things had been completely calm, of course. They had gained maturity and mellowed out with time, but not completely. They had had their share of spats over the years. They did love each other, but it didn't stop them from occasionally getting on each other's nerves.

            Still, for the most part, life had been good. They had gone on a brief honeymoon in Florida after their wedding, returning in time to usher in the new year with their families. Since they had both remained in reasonably good health, they had traveled some, including, at Cal's insistence, a cruise to Europe in 1973. They hadn't been there together since 1912, although Rose had been back twice before, once in 1939 and once in 1960, and Cal had been there once, on business, in 1925.

            The previous February, Cal had surprised Rose by arranging a family reunion for her eightieth birthday, somehow convincing all of her busy children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren to convene in Philadelphia for the celebration. It was the first time in years that they had all been together in one place, and Rose had taken dozens of pictures, thrilled at having them all together again.

            But the passage of time was beginning to catch up to them, or, at least, it was beginning to catch up to Cal. Rose felt as strong and healthy as she had been ten or fifteen years earlier, but old age was finally catching up to Cal. At ninety-three, he once again used a cane to get around, and his eyesight was failing. Glaucoma, the doctor had said, for which there was no treatment. Harry had tried to convince Cal to try marijuana for the glaucoma, insisting that it could help, but Rose and Cal had simply pretended they hadn't heard that.

            Rose was still in good health. Her heart beat strongly, with no sign of weakness or disease, she could still walk long distances, and she suffered only slightly from the aches and pains of old age. Her eyesight was good—she only wore glasses to read small print—and she even had all of her own teeth. She had a touch of arthritis, and her hearing wasn't quite as good as when she was younger, but she was still doing well.

            Cal, on the other hand, was not doing so well. In addition to the glaucoma and the difficulty in getting around, he seemed to catch every ailment going around, and Rose had stopped letting people visit if they were getting over a cold or influenza. The last cold he had caught, in November, had turned into pneumonia, and he had barely pulled through. Rose had spent Thanksgiving at the hospital with him, though it wasn't much of a celebration. He had finally been allowed to go home, but he still had a terrible cough, especially in the cold, damp December weather.

*****

            Two days before Christmas, Cal's health took a turn for the worse, the cough that had never quite gone away progressing again into pneumonia. His doctor put him back in the hospital, but it quickly became apparent that the medicines he was being given weren't doing any good.

            Rose was at his side almost constantly, holding his hand as he struggled to breathe with the help of machines. His temperature rose, and there were times when he was so delirious he didn't realize she was there. At other times, however, he was grateful for her presence, for her refusal to leave his side. The struggle to breathe was so great that he couldn't speak to tell her, but it was all right. She knew. She spoke for him, reminiscing about past times, talking about their families and friends.

            Several members of the family came to visit, those who were living nearby, and on Christmas Eve Nathan drove down from New York City to see his father. He sat beside him for a long time, talking to him, before going to stay with Gregory and Emily for the night.

            The end came on Christmas Day, early in the afternoon. Rose had just returned to the hospital, after being convinced by Emily to go home and rest for a few hours. Gregory, Emily, Nathan, and Gina were all there, gathered around Cal's bed, when she arrived.

            The doctor walked away, shaking her head, knowing there was nothing she could do for him. A nurse's assistant was nearby, but she stood back, letting the family members say good-bye. Cal was still alive, but it was obvious that the end was near.

            Gina was sitting beside him, showing her grandfather a photograph that she had won an award for. Cal squeezed Gina's hand, congratulating her on her success. Emily and Nathan hovered over him, as though if they turned their attention elsewhere for even a moment, he would slip away.

            Cal's expression changed when he saw Rose standing beside him, to a look of relief. He had feared that he wouldn't live long enough to say good-bye to her, but she was there. Struggling to breathe, he managed to speak a few words.

            "Rose..."

            "What is it, Cal?"

            "You...came back."

            "Of course I did. I wasn't going to leave you. Not now."

            "Thank...you." He struggled for another breath. "I...need...tell you...something."

            Rose took his hand, waiting for whatever he had to say.

            "I...love you. Always...have. Since we...were young. Sorry...I didn't tell...then...I...treated you...bad."

            Rose leaned close to him. "There's nothing to be sorry for, Cal. It was a long time ago. We were both young and hot-headed. We grew up. I've never regretted marrying you, though we've had only four years together." Her eyes filled with tears. "I...love you, Cal."

            She looked at him as he struggled to get enough air, to take another breath, paying no attention to the family members gathered around them.

            "You...were right...to leave me...for Jack. He...loved you...and gave you...everything I never could."

            "I think he knew, Cal, when I married you. I...thought I saw him there, watching. He approved."

            "You...should have spent the...years with him. The last four years...have been the best of my life...but he was always there...for you."

            "I've loved you these last few years, Cal. I loved Jack with everything in me, but...he's gone. He's been gone for over five years. I didn't dwell on his memory. He's still in my heart, yes...but so are you."

            "He...wouldn't have wanted you...to dwell on him. I know...more...than you think. You were...a part of...each other...in a way that...you and I...never were. He's...waiting...for you. I'll...make sure...you find each other...when it's time."

            "Cal..." Rose leaned down to embrace him, unmindful of the tears flowing down her cheeks. He hugged her back—and then his arms dropped to his sides, and it was over.

            She straightened, looking around at the family members gathered around them. Emily was crying, clinging to Gregory, and Nathan was staring at his father as though he couldn't quite believe that he was gone. Gina came up and hugged her grandmother, trying to comfort her, as all of them mourned for the man who, despite having made many mistakes in his life, had been loved and cared for by them all.


	38. Life Goes On

Chapter Thirty-Eight

            Six months after Cal's death, Rose left Philadelphia and moved to California. After moving into a small house in the Los Angeles area, she convinced Nancy to help her find work as an actress.

            Rose had acted before, in local theater productions in Philadelphia, and even as an extra in a couple of movies filmed in the city, but she had never tried to make a career of it before. Nancy regarded her mother's new career with some trepidation—Rose was eighty-one years old, after all. But Rose, despite her years, was still strong and healthy, and saw no reason to sit around wasting her life when there were so many things she could do.

            Nancy finally relented, and introduced her mother to several agents, as well as a couple of directors and a number of actors. Nancy had never been a major celebrity, but she had acted in dozens of movies over the years, and had even won a few awards for her work. She knew more than a few people who could give Rose the break she needed, and it wasn't long before her mother was cast in her first commercial.

            Rose's acting career went on for seventeen years. She appeared in a dozen commercials, two television shows, nine movies, and three plays. Finally, when she was ninety-eight, she decided that she'd had enough of working the long hours required of an actress, and moved to Ojai, near to where Harry and his family had finally settled. Lizzy, too, lived nearby, having moved to California after divorcing her husband in 1985.

            Rose returned to Philadelphia only three times during those years. In 1982, she was present for Lizzy's wedding, though she didn't think much of the man her great-granddaughter had chosen, and she wasn't at all surprised when they divorced three years later. Lizzy had lived with her in Los Angeles for a while, until she got back on her feet. Rose was just grateful that the couple had had no children.

            In 1987, and again in 1992, Rose returned to Philadelphia for much sadder occasions—the funerals of two of her children. Libby's research had helped make great strides in the treatment of radiation-induced diseases, but Libby herself died of radiation-induced cancer on October 24, 1987. On June 8, 1992, Gregory died suddenly of a heart attack—the same thing that had killed his father twenty-two years earlier.

            Rose attended both funerals with a sense of disbelief—had she really outlived three of her children? It didn't seem possible. And yet, she was ninety-seven years old when Gregory died, and had outlived most of those she had known when she was young. Libby had been seventy-two when she died, and Gregory had been seventy-nine. It was hard to believe that she had lived to such a great age, that she had lived to see her eldest children grow old, but she had.

            It was the death of her firstborn that brought Rose to the reality that she herself was very old. She had lived a long time, but she wouldn't live forever, and it was this realization that compelled her to retire from acting a year later. She had left the fast-paced, frantic world of acting behind, and had taken up a quiet retirement.

            Over the next two years, Rose indulged her love of art, decorating her home with pieces of folk art picked up wherever they caught her eye and learning to make pottery. When Gina and her daughter, Ruth, came to visit during the spring of 1995, she allowed her granddaughter to teach her about photography, though she never found it quite so fascinating as works of art made by hand.

            In the summer of 1995, the entire Dawson family came together for a reunion. It was held at Rose's home, though the guests stayed elsewhere, except for three of Rose's four surviving children. The house wasn't big enough for more. Children, step-children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren, great-great-grandchildren, the spouses of her descendants—everyone converged upon her home. There were sixty-seven people altogether, and the gathering wound up spreading into the vacant lot across the street. Rose had never dreamed that she would have such a large family.

            Even as she watched the members of her family celebrate their reunion, she couldn't help but think of those who weren't there—Jack, Cal, Adam, Libby, Gregory—even her grandson John, who had died in Vietnam. But as she remembered those who weren't there, she realized that she was still glad to be alive, glad to have lived to be a hundred, even if it had meant saying good-bye to many of those she loved.


	39. Broken Hip

Chapter Thirty-Nine

September 14, 1995

            Rose stretched as she walked across the lawn toward her front door. Her pet Pomeranian, Freddy, tugged at the leash, eager to get into the house and be fed. Keeping a tight hold on the little dog's leash, Rose stopped to pick up the newspaper, which this time had been thrown in the flowerbed.

            It was a pleasant morning, the sun barely up. The weather was still pleasant, unlike in the later hours, when it would grow hot. Rose had been walking around the neighborhood, as she had every morning since she had moved to Ojai two years earlier.

            Fishing the house key from her pocket, Rose unlocked the door and opened it, letting Freddy go. He ran to his dish, dragging his leash behind him, and danced around it, looking at her expectantly. She laughed, removing his leash before she reached for the bag of dog food.

            Freddy was the second dog she had owned. The first dog, the Scotty, Petunia, that Cal had brought her shortly after Jack had died, had had to be put to sleep in 1988, when it was eighteen years old. In 1989, Rose had seen Freddy in a pet store and had immediately fallen in love. The dog had been her constant companion ever since.

            Rose poured some food into Freddy's dish, and set the newspaper on the table. Humming to herself, she got out some cereal and fruit for her own breakfast, and started boiling water for tea in the microwave.

            As she waited for the water to boil, she opened the newspaper, skimming through the articles. At one hundred years old, she often felt that she'd read them before, except that there were constantly new people doing the same things. Once in a while something new would happen, but not often, or at least it didn't seem that way to her.

            As the microwave beeped, Rose walked over to get her water out, still looking at the headlines. The president was involved in yet another scandal. Yet another piece of technology was becoming obsolete. People were fighting in the Middle East—again. Nothing ever to seemed to change, except for the names of the people involved. It was nice, she thought ironically, to know that some things could always be relied on.

            Later, Rose would admit that she should have been paying more attention to where she was walking, but her mind was on the newspaper as she reached for the microwave door, and she didn't notice Freddy walking right behind her feet. As she opened the door and stepped back, she tripped over him, landing hard on the linoleum floor.

            There was an ominous snapping sound, followed almost immediately by a sharp stab of pain in her hip. Freddy yelped, running out of the way, then ran back to her, whining.

            Rose tried to get up, but the pain in her right hip made it impossible. Swearing under her breath, she tried to think of what to do.

            It was probably a broken hip, she realized, and swore again, knowing how many elderly people were left crippled by broken hips. But the first thing to worry about, before thinking about being crippled, was to figure out how to get off the kitchen floor. She didn't think she could walk, and even getting up was doubtful, but she had to do something.

            Pushing her upper body up with her arms, Rose managed to roll over on her left side, taking the pressure off the broken bone. Grateful that she had kept her strength, she dragged herself across the floor to the table where her cordless phone sat, using her arms and her left leg to propel herself along. It was slow going, and the worried Pomeranian didn't help matters when he tried to lick her face, slowing her further. She pushed him away, and somehow made it to the table.

            The next step, an almost impossible one it seemed, was getting the phone off the table. She tried to pull herself up, but couldn't quite manage it. Frustrated, she looked up at the phone on the table, only a few feet away, but impossible to reach.

            "Freddy!" she called. The dog ran up to her, tail wagging. "Fetch!" She pointed to the phone. She doubted the dog could really bring it to her, but if he could knock it on the floor...

            Reaching up, she patted the chair nearest the phone, inviting the dog to jump up. He obeyed, sitting at the table as though he expected to be served.

            "Fetch the phone, Freddy!" Rose implored, tugging on the line that the phone charger was attached to, making her meaning clear.

            The dog wagged his tail, thinking it a game, and tried to pick up the phone charger. It was too heavy for him, but he dragged it to the edge of the table, allowing Rose to reach up and knock it to the floor.

            Freddy jumped down, eager to continue the game, but Rose stopped him, patting him on the head. Punching in 9-1-1, she called an ambulance to help her.

            Fighting against the pain of her broken hip, Rose explained that she had tripped and fallen, and couldn't get up. Giving her name and address, she assured the dispatcher that she wasn't in immediate danger—she was in pain, yes, but it wouldn't kill her—and then, when the operator had allowed her to break the connection, she punched in Lizzy's number.

            "Hello?" Lizzy picked up on the second ring.

            Rose had known there was a good chance Lizzy would be home, since she telecommuted instead of working in an office. Ordinarily, Lizzy didn't like being disturbed at work, but in an emergency she would set it aside.

            "Lizzy?"

            "What is it, Nana?"

            At one time, Rose had marveled at Lizzy's ability to always know who was on the phone, until she had discovered that her great-granddaughter had Caller ID.

            "I fell...I think I broke my hip..."

            "Oh, no! Did you call an ambulance, Nana?"

            "Yes. It's on its way. Could you meet me at the hospital? I would have called Harry, but he's at work..."

            "So am I, Nana," Lizzy sounded a little exasperated, "but yes, I'll meet you there."

            Rose heard her doorbell ring. "The paramedics are here. I'll see you at the hospital." She broke the connection, shouting at the paramedics to come in.

            In a few minutes, they had her loaded onto a stretcher. They tried not to cause her any more pain than she was already in, but she still cried out in agony as they put her on the stretcher, and used a few choice words to describe broken bones in general and her hip in particular.

            Amazingly, it was the first time in her life that she had broken a bone, and she sighed, resigned to the idea that it had to happen sometime. After all, her bones had undoubtedly grown more brittle with age, and most people seemed to break something at some point. She had spent enough hours in doctor's offices when she was younger, while one or another of her children had a broken bone set, to know that. Her children had usually broken bones through such things as falling out of trees or in roller skating accidents, and she had nursed three of her adventurous youngsters through broken arms and ankles.

            Rose noticed that the paramedic had an amused look on his face, and scowled. "What are you laughing at?"

            He tried to wipe the smile from his face. "Sorry, Ma'am. I just haven't heard many older ladies use those words."

            Rose looked at him, distracted from her pain for the moment. "I couldn't use them when I was younger, because I had to teach my children not to say them. Now that I'm old, I can say what I want." She set her jaw stubbornly.

            The paramedic laughed again, then looked surprised when Rose laughed with him. With her hip immobilized, she could concentrate on something other than the pain.

            The ambulance arrived at the hospital a few minutes later, and she was wheeled into the emergency room. Lizzy met her there, looking frightened, but she soon relaxed when she saw that her great-grandmother was in no immediate danger.

            A few hours later, Rose's broken hip had been set, and she was resting comfortably. The X-rays had revealed that the injury was an intertrochanteric fracture of the right femur. When Rose had asked to have this translated into English, the radiologist had explained that it meant that her thighbone was broken three inches from the hip socket. A compression screw and side plate had been attached surgically to the broken bone, holding the bone in place while allowing it to move normally.

            Rose was a bit groggy from the anesthesia at first, but soon became more alert. Lizzy was beside her when she woke up.

            "Nana, how did you fall? I never thought you were one to fall easily. I mean, just last summer you were dancing with Uncle Harry at the family reunion."

            Rose looked a little sheepish. "I was opening the microwave and reading the newspaper at the same time. I stepped back and tripped over Freddy."

            "That dog's going to be the death of you."

            "Actually, I got him to 'fetch' the phone for me. He knocked the cordless phone charger to the edge of the table, trying to pick it up, and I pulled it onto the floor and called an ambulance, and then called you."

            "I guess he does have some uses." Lizzy wasn't overly fond of the Pomeranian, who always yapped loudly when she came to visit.

            "Speaking of Freddy, could you possibly take care of him until I get out of here? I know he barks at you, but he really does like you."

            "Uh-huh." Lizzy sighed. "All right, Nana, I'll take him to my apartment until you're better. You're just lucky my landlord allows pets."

            "Thank you, Lizzy. And while you're picking him up, could you please put the phone back on the table, close the microwave, and make sure my house is locked?" Rose grimaced. "I don't want anyone moving in or absconding with my belongings while I'm gone."

            "Sure, Nana." Lizzy stood. "Now, get better as soon as you can. Do what the doctor tells you, and don't make anyone mad by swearing at them."

            "I see you were talking to the paramedic."

            "Yeah."

            "I don't swear that much, dear. Only when events require it. A broken hip requires it."

            Lizzy laughed. "Like a magical incantation, I take it."

            "Whatever you choose to call it. It's better than just lying there in pain."

            "I'll see you later, Nana. I called Uncle Harry at work, and he'll be by to see you when he's done."

            "Thank you, Lizzy. Now, go get Freddy before he makes a mess on the carpet, and please pick up my mail and bring it to me when you next come to visit."

            "All right, Nana. I'll see you tomorrow."


	40. Still Making It Count

Chapter Forty

            After a few weeks, Rose was able to get up and begin attempting to walk again. It soon became evident, however, that she would never be completely healed. Her old bones simply couldn't heal as quickly or as well as a younger person's, and the question soon came about of what she would do after she left the hospital.

            Although Rose was eventually able to walk with only the help of a cane, her doctor recommended that she not try to live on her own. She moved slowly, and the need to lean on the cane made carrying things difficult. While she certainly did not need to go into a nursing home, living alone was out of the question.

            Several of Rose's friends lived in assisted living centers, and recommended them to her. Rose, however, was stubbornly opposed to moving into one of the tiny apartments. She had her own home, with plenty of space for visitors and a beautiful view from the living room window, and she was unwilling to give it up. She had plenty of money, and at first considered hiring someone to help her with day to day living, but a change of events in Lizzy's life soon settled the question.

            Lizzy was laid off from her job in November of 1995, and found herself unable to afford the rent on her apartment. Recognizing her great-grandmother's dilemma as well as her own, Lizzy moved in with Rose, exchanging her help as Rose's caretaker for a roof over her head.

            Following her one hundred first birthday in February, Rose finally got to the point where she could be alone part of the day, and Lizzy found a part time job, still taking care of Rose when she wasn't at work. The arrangement worked well. Rose had the care she needed, and Lizzy's job allowed her to be alone at times without her concerned great-granddaughter constantly fussing over her.

            One thing that Rose did miss was driving. She had first gotten her driver's license early in 1918, and had continued driving until she had broken her hip. After she had been injured, however, she could no longer drive safely, and her car had mysteriously disappeared from the driveway one night. Lizzy claimed that it had been stolen, and no one had been able to find out who had stolen it, but Rose suspected that it had been sold to keep her from trying to drive it, especially when she discovered that her bank account was suddenly several thousand dollars richer.

            In spite of the loss of some of her independence, Rose was content with life, and continued with the activities she had grown to love over the years. She occasionally thought about times past, but most of her energy was concentrated on making each day count, as Jack had told her so long ago, until one morning in April when a CNN broadcast brought her face to face with the distant past.


	41. A Story Told

Chapter Forty-One

April 14, 1996

            Rose was sitting in a sunny corner of her living room, throwing a pot on a wheel. The spring sunshine shone brightly through the window, which was open a crack to let the cool morning air in. Outside, the fields and hills were covered with green grass and wildflowers.

            Rose concentrated on her work, shaping the pot carefully. She had become quite good at pottery-making over the past three years, and enjoyed it. In the kitchen, Lizzy nudged Freddy aside as the little dog wagged its tail and yipped, demanding to be fed.

            The television was on in the living room, and Rose listened with half an ear to the CNN news report. Some treasure hunter was looking for more sunken valuables, but her attention was caught by the word Titanic. Looking up, she wiped her hands on an old rag and walked slowly over to the television, listening more closely.

            As she came to where she could see the picture, she gasped in surprise. There, on the screen, was the drawing Jack had made of her eighty-four years earlier. The treasure hunter, Brock Lovett, had found Cal's safe and retrieved the drawing.

            "What is it, Nana?" Lizzy asked, glancing at the picture on the screen.

            "Turn that up, dear."

            Lizzy did as she asked, and Rose realized that Lovett sought the Heart of the Ocean, the jewel that Cal had placed in his pocket so long ago before putting her in a lifeboat. He was obviously expecting to find it somewhere on the Titanic, and Rose wondered if she should tell him that he was wasting his time.

            It was a sign, Rose decided, a sign that it was time to tell her story of her time on Titanic. Jack, Cal, and Ruth had been there, too, had seen what she had seen, but they were gone now, and only she was left to tell the story. She had told parts of it to her family, but she had never told the whole story. If the untold stories were what Mr. Brock Lovett was looking for, she wouldn't disappoint him.

            Limping over to the table, Rose picked up her portable phone and dialed information, seeking the number of CNN, while Lizzy watched in confusion, having no idea what her great-grandmother was after.

            After making several calls, Rose finally got the number of the Keldysh, out in the North Atlantic. Punching in the number, she waited.

            It seemed forever until the phone was picked up, and then it was someone named Bobby Buell. He tried patiently to explain to her that Brock Lovett was unavailable, that he was getting ready to go down in a submersible, but when she asked if they had found the Heart of the Ocean, he hurried to find him.

            She could hear arguing on the other end of the line, and then finally the phone was picked up.

            "How can I help you, Mrs. Dawson?"

            "I was just wondering if you had found the Heart of the Ocean yet, Mr. Lovett."

            "All right. You have my attention, Rose. Can you tell me who the woman in the picture is?"

            "Oh, yes. The woman in the picture is me."

*****

            Early in the afternoon in the North Atlantic, a helicopter set down on the deck of the Keldysh. Rose, sitting in a wheelchair with Freddy on her lap, was handed out of the chopper, along with nine pieces of luggage. Lizzy jumped down after her, while a large man with a shaggy beard looked at her suspiciously.

            "Doesn't exactly travel light, does she?" she heard him yell to Lovett as she was wheeled to her stateroom.

*****

            Inside her stateroom, Rose was finally able to get out of the wheelchair and walk around the small space. She carefully arranged her collection of photographs, which she never traveled without, on a small table. She stopped and looked at several of them, remembering when they were taken.

            "Are your staterooms all right?"

            Rose looked up to see Lovett and the man with the shaggy beard, Lewis Bodine, watching her from the door. "Oh, yes. Very nice. Have you met my great-granddaughter, Lizzy? She takes care of me."

            "We met on deck, just a little while ago. Remember, Nana?"

            "Oh, yes." Rose slapped her forehead. She had been too busy looking at the ship to pay attention to anything else. It was the first time she had been in the North Atlantic since the sinking. Even the two times she had sailed to Europe, she had taken the South Atlantic route.

            Bodine rolled his eyes, but Lovett looked more closely at Lizzy, eyeing her with interest.

            "Is there anything you would like? Can I get you anything?"

            Rose looked at him. "Yes. I would like to see my drawing."

*****

            Minutes later, Rose was inside a laboratory, looking at herself across the span of eighty-four years. There was the drawing, just as she remembered it. It was submerged in a tray of water to keep it from disintegrating, and it was slightly dirty and torn at the edges, but it was definitely the drawing Jack had made of her on the Titanic that April night so long ago.

            "Do you really think this is you, Nana?" Lizzy asked, looking at the drawing skeptically. Her first memories of Rose were of a woman in her late sixties, and she had trouble reconciling that image with the picture of the unclothed woman in the water tray.

            "Of course it's me, dear. Wasn't I a dish?"

            "We retrieved some things from your stateroom," Lovett told her as Lizzy pushed her wheelchair over to a table covered with artifacts.

            Rose reached for one of the items, holding it carefully. It was the butterfly comb she had worn the last day on Titanic. A small piece was broken out of it, but otherwise it was the same as the last time she had seen it, when she had left it on her vanity before Jack had drawn her.

            She picked up another item, a silver-backed hand mirror. Looking at it, she told them, "It looks just like the last time I saw it." Turning it over, she gazed into the cracked reflection, remembering when she had flung the mirror against the wall. "The reflection has changed a bit."

            Bodine had lightened up once he had been convinced that she wasn't seeking publicity. Eagerly, he showed her a computer animation of the sinking. Rose watched dispassionately, thinking of how different it looked on the computer as compared to what she and Jack had survived that night.

            "Pretty cool, huh?" Bodine asked, grinning.

            "Thank you for that fine forensic analysis, Mr. Bodine," Rose told him, a bit crisply. "The actual experience was...somewhat different."

            "Can you share it with us, Rose?" Lovett asked, producing a small tape recorder.

            Rose got up, leaning on her cane. She slowly made her way over to one of the screens showing images broadcast by the submersibles below. On the screen was the image of the doors to dining salon. She stared at the image, memories flooding her mind, and gave an involuntary cry.

            "I'm taking her to rest," Lizzy told the men. "Come on, Nana."

            "No," Rose protested, pulling herself together. When it looked as though Lizzy would insist, she protested louder. "No!"

            Lizzy stepped back, allowing Rose to sit down at the table. Rose began her story.

            "It's been eighty-four years—"

            Lovett interrupted her. "Just try to remember something. Anything at all."

            Rose gave him an annoyed look. "Do you want to hear this or not, Mr. Lovett?"

            Lovett looked at her in consternation, but allowed her to speak.

            "It's been eighty-four years, and I can still smell the fresh paint. The china had never been used. The sheets had never been slept on. Titanic was called the ship of dreams, and it was. It really was..."

*****

            "Fifteen hundred people went into the water when Titanic sank from under us. There were twenty boats floating nearby, and only one came back. _One. Six were saved from the water, myself included. Six, out of fifteen hundred."_

            The old emotions were rushing back to her. She had told the whole story, starting with the morning that she had boarded the ship, feeling as though she were being taken back to America in chains, to the way that Jack had won his ticket, to their first meeting when she had tried to jump off the ship. Lizzy had been shocked at the news that her strong, courageous great-grandmother had once tried to commit suicide by jumping off the Titanic. Bodine had been amused, much to the consternation of everyone but Rose.

            She had also told them of the hours she and Jack had spent walking around on deck, talking and looking at his drawings. She had even told them about learning to spit, something she had occasionally put to good use in the years that followed. They had listened with interest as she described the dinner party Jack had been invited to as thanks for saving her life, and the party later in steerage, where she had felt truly free for the first time.

            Lizzy had been surprised at her description of Cal and his behavior, trying to reconcile the image of the rude, arrogant young man with that of the polite, elderly gentleman she had known. Rose had just smiled, understanding better than Lizzy how people sometimes changed with time. Lizzy was only a few years older now than Cal had been then, and she still had a lot to learn, though she sympathized with Rose over being engaged to a jerk. Her ex-husband had matched that description even more than Cal had.

            Rose's eyes had misted over for a moment as she described the way that she and Jack had flown on the bow of Titanic, and then she had laughed along with the others when she told them about Jack drawing her wearing only the Heart of the Ocean—and his reaction when she had first removed her kimono. Several of the men had smirked when she had mentioned the Renault, and Lizzy had given her a stunned look, realizing that her great-uncle Gregory had been conceived in the back seat of that car.

            The story of the sinking had been the hardest to tell. She had spoken of how Cal had framed Jack for the theft of the Heart of the Ocean, and how she had realized the extent of Cal's perfidy and had gone back to rescue Jack. She told of jumping from the lifeboat, and Cal's rage when she had run back to Jack. As she spoke of the final hours on Titanic, and of the way they had struggled to survive, anger had crept into her voice, anger that had never quite left her, even after eighty-four years.

            In conclusion, she had spoken of how they had wound up in the water, separated by the suction, and how she had found a piece of wreckage to lay on, attracting the attention of the one boat that had gone back to search for survivors by blowing on the whistle taken from the lips of the dead officer. It had been sheer luck that she, Jack, and four fortunate others had survived, when so many others had perished.

            As she looked around, she saw tears in the eyes of those listening to her story, and knew that Brock Lovett would no longer think only of the treasure he could find in the shipwrecks. After this, he would think of the people who had owned those treasures, and who had perhaps lost their lives in the disasters that had brought the treasures to the bottom of the sea.


	42. Falling Stars

Chapter Forty-Two

            A noisy wrap party was in progress aboard the Keldysh. Crew members, researchers, and treasure hunters alike celebrated, along with one of their unexpected guests. It was a little soon for the party—they had one more dive to complete—but the Keldysh would be returning to shore as soon as that dive was completed.

            Rose walked slowly toward the deserted bow. On the deck above, she could hear laughter and pounding feet as people danced. Glancing up, she saw Lizzy dancing with Brock Lovett, and smiled to herself. After years of scorning men in general, her great-granddaughter had finally met her match, even if she didn't realize it yet.

            As she approached the railing, Rose felt better than she had in months. She walked slowly, but without her cane, the longest walk she had taken without it in a long time. As she reached the rail, a shooting star flashed overhead, and she looked up at it, smiling. _A shooting star is a soul going to heaven_, Jack had told her long ago. She had never forgotten those words.

            Carefully, she climbed on the lowest railing, clutching something in her right hand. Opening her fingers, she looked at the object concealed within—the Heart of the Ocean. She still had it, after all these years. She had never carried it with her when traveling before, but this time it had seemed right. It was time, she thought, to put it back where it belonged—and to allow a new generation to find it.

            Lovett would have the coveted diamond, but first she had to give it back to the sea, back to the Titanic. He would find it in the ruins, back where it belonged after eighty-four years. Only she and Jack had ever known about the diamond. Cal had given it to her, but he had never asked what she had done with it—or if she had even found it. In the struggle to survive that night so long ago, it was surprising that it hadn't been lost. And yet, somehow, it had remained in the pocket of the coat, to be hidden away and kept safe throughout the decades, and to at last be returned to the sea.

            Looking at the blue gem one last time, Rose let it slip from her hand. It landed with a quiet splash and spiraled into the depths of the North Atlantic. She watched as it disappeared, sinking ever deeper into the ocean.

*****

            Rose stood before the table in her stateroom, looking at her pictures, as she had every night for the last three years. So many pictures—so many memories.

            Her gaze traveled over them, memories sweeping through her mind. So much had happened over the years, so many people had shared her life. Her gaze fell upon a few photographs in particular. A publicity shot from her acting days...a movie still from her first film...a photograph of the Dawson family before World War I...Jack and Rose on their fiftieth wedding anniversary...the entire family gathered together in the summer of 1995.

            Her eyes lit upon this last picture for a moment longer, focusing upon one person in particular, a small blonde boy sitting in his mother's lap. Two-year-old Jack Dawson-Price, Susan's son, gazed calmly into the camera, a scribbled-upon memo pad in his hands. The small boy was the spitting image of the great-grandfather he had been named for.

            Her gaze fell upon a few more pictures as she turned toward her bed. A picture Jack had taken of her in Europe, posed beside her plane...a picture of the two of them riding horses in the surf in Santa Monica...and a series of individual pictures, pictures of loved ones who were no longer with her.

            She stared at them for a moment, remembering those she had loved and lost...feeling as though they were close by, watching over her. So many loved ones—her parents, Adam, Cal, Libby, Gregory...and Jack.

            She picked up Jack's picture, looking at the lively blue eyes that had never failed to captivate her. She would be with him soon, she thought, setting the framed photograph down and climbing into bed.

            As she lay back, another shooting star fell past her porthole, lighting the night sky. The first had been a sign, she thought. The second was a beacon, calling her home.

            Smiling softly, Rose closed her eyes.


	43. Forever This Time

Epilogue

            Rose opened her eyes to find herself moving swiftly through a brightly lit sea. Strangely, it was neither cold nor wet, but instead warm and clear, calling her onward.

            In moments, the Titanic appeared before her, the rust and grime of eighty-four years under water vanishing as she came to a stop upon the promenade deck. It was as bright and beautiful as the day it had set sail so long ago. Wonderingly, she stepped forward across the shining wood floor, realizing then that there was no more pain. She walked easily, her once-gnarled hands smooth and supple again. A gentle breeze blew her long red curls about her face.

            As she walked along, she realized that Cal was walking beside her. Stopping, she turned to look at him, but he just smiled and took her arm, leading her to the door.

            A steward opened the door, nodding to them, and they walked inside. The crowd within the room, people of all classes, turned to watch them. Rose stopped as a group of people walked up to her, surrounding her and embracing her, people that she had lost long before—her father and mother, Adam, Libby, and Gregory, her grandson, John—all gathered together to greet her.

            After a moment, they stepped back, and she walked onward, greeted now by more people, some who had died on the Titanic, some who had not. She nodded to them, smiling to see their familiar faces—Trudy, Molly Brown, Nathan Hockley, Tommy, Fabrizio, Cora and her father, Thomas Andrews—all friends, all people she had long ago said good-bye to.

            As Rose and Cal reached the base of the grand staircase, she looked up and saw the figure waiting at the top, his eyes fixed on the clock. It read 2:20, the time that the Titanic had plunged to the bottom of the Atlantic Ocean eighty-four years before.

            Jack turned from watching the clock, his face lighting at the sight of Rose. Cal pushed her forward gently, whispering, "Remember, sweetpea, I told you I would make sure you two found each other again. He's been waiting here for you for twenty-six years. Go to him, Rose."

            Rose turned to Cal one last time. "Thank you, Cal," she whispered, kissing him on the cheek. "Thank you for everything."

            Jack held out his hand, just as he had on their wedding day, and Rose ascended the staircase, reaching out to take his hand in hers. Their faces lit in joy as they embraced, their lips meeting in a kiss of love and promise that would last forever.

            They barely noticed the applause around them as the light of eternity brightened around them, surrounding the ship and its people for all time.

The End.


End file.
